It was several more minutes before he left and Regan was finally alone to read what was inside the packet Farrell had brought her. A half-hour later, when she put it down, she smiled. It was true she’d never been married to Travis. How he was going to rage at this news! For the first time in years she lapsed into one of her daydreams, imagining how he’d react when she told him he had no power over her, that, legally, Jennifer was no man’s daughter. For just once in her life she was going to win over Travis Stanford, and it was going to be a wonderful experience.
As for Farrell’s proposal, she dismissed it. The silly man thought Regan really believed his protestations of love. He wanted her married to him before her twenty-third birthday when she would come into her parents’ fortune. He’d learn soon enough that she was going to live her own life.
With a smile, she began to write Travis a note, asking him to join her for a private dinner that night.
The private dining room was set with tall, fragrant candles, cut crystal glassware from Vienna, porcelain dinnerware from France, silver from England. The wine was a delicacy from Germany, and the food was American.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve come to your senses,” Travis said, buttering a biscuit. “Jennifer will be much better off around friends instead of all these strangers. Has she always been given the run of this place? I can’t see that it’s good for a child playing in the corridors of a public inn.”
“And you have such a vast experience with children that you, of course, know exactly what is right for them,” Regan retorted.
He shrugged, enjoying his food. “I certainly know enough to be certain there is a better place for a child than this. At my place you can spend more time with Jennifer and”—he smiled—“our other children.”
“Travis—,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was when you finally came to your senses. But really, I was expecting more of a fight. You’ve grown up more than I thought.”
“What!” she sputtered on her wine. “Finally came to my senses? Grown up? What are you talking about?”
He caught her hand in his, caressed her fingers, and when he spoke his voice was deep and low. “This dinner was such a surprise to me because I knew what you wanted to say.” He kissed her fingertips. “I want you to know that I realize how difficult a decision it’s been for you, and I’ll never use it against you. You’ve done a brave and generous thing in agreeing to retu
rn with me. Perhaps you’d like to stay here in your little town for a while longer, but Jennifer needs more than a houseful of strangers—she needs a home, which I can, of course, give her.” Again, he kissed her fingers. “You’ve made a wise decision.”
Taking deep breaths to calm herself, as well as a deep drink of wine, Regan gave him a radiant smile. “You vain, pompous farmer,” she said conversationally. “I do not plan to return to your house, and my ‘little town,’ as you call it, is home for my daughter.”
In spite of her good intentions, her voice was rising. “I invited you here, not to tell you I was returning with you as you so arrogantly assumed, but to tell you that I am not and never have been married to you.”
It was Travis’s turn to sputter. Regan, for the first time during the meal, began to eat. It felt good to win over Travis!
Grabbing her wrist, he started to pull her from her seat.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I assume you have a preacher in this town. He can marry us now.”
“He will not!” she hissed. “And if you don’t sit down I just may take Jennifer away again.”
Hesitating, but not wanting to risk such a punishment, he sat down. “Tell me the whole story,” he said bleakly.
Regan lost some of her cheerfulness when she saw Travis’s look, and when she told him his daughter was not legally his, she almost said she’d marry him then and there. But it was at the mention of Farrell’s name that his look changed.
“That two-bit piece of scum told you this?” he demanded. “He’s certainly gone to a lot of trouble. What’s in it for him?”
Regan was well aware that Travis knew nothing of the money she was due to inherit, money that would mean nothing to Travis but meant everything to Farrell. But, truthfully, she didn’t like Travis’s insinuation that Farrell had a motive besides love.
“Farrell wants to marry me,” she said haughtily. “He says he loves me as well as Jennifer and wants to adopt my daughter.”
“You wouldn’t be such a fool,” Travis said smugly. “Why would any woman want a weakling like that?”
The implied second part of that statement was, “When you could have someone like me?”
Glaring at him, Regan almost snarled. “Farrell is a gentleman. He knows how to make a woman feel like a lady. His courting is…exquisite,” she said with feeling. “All you Americans know is how to make demands.”
Travis snorted. “Any American can outcourt any weakling Englishman.”
“Oh Travis,” Regan smiled serenely. “You know nothing of courting. Your idea of seducing a woman is to drag her about by her hair.”
“There’ve been a few times when you’ve liked being dragged about,” he answered.