Seth knew Cynthia considered Morgan no temptation. Certainly the girl knew it too. She wasn’t pretty—or was she? He wondered how she would look with her long pale hair loose, cascading across her shoulders and down her back, with no clothes on.
Seth assured Cynthia that he would very much like to dance with Morgan. Doubt crossed Cynthia’s face, but only for a moment.
“But would you please introduce us first?” he said.
The introduction completed. Morgan extended her hand and found it totally engulfed by his. His hand was warm, the palm calloused and hard.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Wakefield.” His eyes smiled. He showed much more interest in her than he had a few minutes before. He turned to Cynthia. “Please excuse us. A waltz has begun, and I am interested in knowing how Miss Wakefield came by a first name like Morgan.” He led Morgan to the dance floor. She could feel the warmth of his body through his coat sleeve.
He took her in his arms and they began to dance. She was glad now that Aunt Lacey had arranged for her dancing lessons. She wanted to glide, to enjoy herself, but she remembered the job that had to be done.
“Mr. Colter, I heard it mentioned that you have a place in New Mexico.”
He paused before answering. What game was she playing? “Yes, I do … a small cattle ranch.”
How to go on? How do you lead up to asking a total stranger to marry you? “My father lived in New Mexico for a number of years. I was born there.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “His name was Charles Wakefield.”
He tilted his head. “I’ve heard of your father. A very wealthy man, with a large spread just south of Albuquerque.”
She looked straight into his eyes and said it plainly. “Yes, a very wealthy man.”
He laughed aloud. He thought he saw her game. He knew her father had died within the year. She probably was an heiress. Since she couldn’t flirt with looks, like Cynthia, she was going to dangle her money as bait. It was incredible what a woman would do to get a husband.
Morgan took a deep breath. “I shall be honest, Mr. Colter. I’d like to make a business deal with you. As you say, my father was a very wealthy man. And now he has left that money to me, on a condition.
“In compliance with that condition,” she continued, “I’d like to offer you a job. It would be no more than a job,” she emphasized. “The job would last one year, you would not have to leave your ranch in New Mexico, and I would pay you twenty-five thousand dollars for your services during that year.”
He was about to speak when the music stopped. They both looked up to see Cynthia rapidly making her way toward them. She doesn’t waste any time, thought Morgan.
“Miss Wakefield,” he said, taking her arm, “your job interests me. Shall we go somewhere where we can talk?”
Much to Cynthia’s chagrin, Seth led Morgan away. Of course, he couldn’t have seen me coming or he would never have turned his back, thought Cynthia. Yet there was just a seed of doubt.
“Cynthia! What a lovely dress!” someone called. Cynthia turned to accept the compliment and missed seeing Seth lead Morgan into the garden.
Morgan and Seth sat side by side on a stone bench under a copse of trees.
“Now, Miss Wakefield, just what is this job that is so important that you are willing to pay twenty-five thousand dollars for it?” He leaned against a tree, and smiled a half-smile.
Morgan thought quickly. She sensed that if she burst out that the job was to marry her and live with her for one year, he would leave. No, she must explain it all from the beginning and gradually lead up to his part in her life.
She looked at her hands and took a deep breath. “Mr. Colter, this is an unusual story, and before I tell you of the job, I must explain some of its background.
“I have said that I was born in New Mexico. My mother and father lived there, together, for two years, including the year after I was born. My mother hated the heat and the dryness and the lack of comfort. She had been accustomed to much better in her father’s house here in Kentucky.
“She left him, took me, and returned to her home. I lived alone with my mother, in the country, until I was sixteen. Then she passed away. For the past two years I have lived with my aunt and uncle here in Louisville.” Morgan felt the anger rise in her as she arrived at this point in her story. She rose and stood by the bougainvillea vine at the corner of the bench.
Without looking at him, she continued. “My life was peaceful until six months ago. I had planned to live with my aunt and uncle until such time as my uncle gave his consent for my return to Trahern House, the home of my childhood. I must digress a moment and tell you, Mr. Colter,” she met his eyes, “that I do not feel at ease around large numbers of people. My major goal in life has been to live alone at Trahern House. You must understand that.”
Seth recalled his home in the mountains of New Mexico, the isolation of it, the peace of it. “I do understand that,” he said.
Morgan sensed that he did.
“Please continue, Miss Wakefield. You were saying that everything changed six months ago?”
“Six months ago my father died. He left his money to me, but with a stipulation, which is what puts me here at this exact moment.”
“Come now, Miss Wakefield, you do not flatter me. I trust that our friend, Cynthia, would not find being here with me so distasteful.”
Morgan stiffened. “I am not at all like Cynthia Ferguson. If I had my wish, I would be at home at Trahern House.”
“I am sorry. I did not wish to arouse your hostility. I am still waiting for my part in this.”
“My father had always wanted my mother to send me to New Mexico, but she refused. So my father decided to see to it that I went to New Mexico after his death.” She paused to draw a breath, and looked directly at Seth. “If I am to collect my inheritance, I must marry a man and live with him in New Mexico for one year.”
She watched him intently. But in the dim light, she could see no change in his expression.
“I must do this before I am twenty-five years old or else everything goes to my uncle.” Her voice changed. “And of course my uncle is planning everything in his power to keep me from marrying. You can see the way I am forced to dress. In two days, he plans to take my aunt and me to Europe for an extended trip. My bags are already packed.”
She sat back down on the bench, feeling spent. She did not like having to pour out her troubles to a stranger. She could not look at Seth.
There was a long pause. Morgan began to feel that she had lost.
Finally, he spoke. “Well, then … am I to be the man who fulfills your father’s wish?”
Her head came up. “I offer you a business deal, sir. I will pay you twenty-five thousand dollars for the use of your name and for a year’s room and board in your house in New Mexico.”
He said quietly, “What do you plan to do at the end of the year? How do you plan to dissolve the marriage?”
Once Morgan had heard her Aunt Lacey and some friends gossiping about an elopement that had been annulled. “It will be annulled.”
“Annulled?”
She could hear the amusement in his voice and wasn’t sure that he understood. “Yes. Annulled—as the elopement of Kevin and Alice Fulton was annulled last spring.”
He laughed aloud, actually more of a snort than a laugh. “Oh, I see. I believe that brief marriage was annulled on the grounds of lack of consummation. Are those the grounds you would choose for the annulment?”
Morgan was not sure about the meaning of the word, but she had heard whispers. She wanted no closeness with this or any other man. She wanted to be free to return to Trahern House at the end of the year. “Yes,” she answered him, meeting his eyes, “this will be a marriage in name only.”
Seth looked at her charming, honest face, bathed in moonlight, and smiled to himself. He thought about the isolation of his house in the New Mexico mountains and the coldness of the winters. He wondered whether, after the two of
them had lived together all winter long, they would qualify for an annulment. He hoped not.
Chapter Two
“MORGAN, Morgan!” Uncle Horace’s voice reached them in the garden.
“I must go in, or he will send every person in the ballroom to find me.” She turned to Seth with questioning eyes, reluctant to go without a firm agreement between them.
He understood her hesitancy and said, “I accept your offer. You said you were to leave day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“There are arrangements to be made. I will come for you tomorrow, but it may be late in the day.” As he took her arm and they returned to the ballroom, Morgan begged him to keep their arrangement a secret. She feared her Uncle Horace would take her away if he knew.
As they returned, Morgan noticed a few faces turned toward them.
Cynthia moved quickly to them. “Why, Seth, you are such a dear to make Morgan feel welcome.” Her words were confident, but her eyes betrayed her. She touched Seth’s arm and fluttered her lashes at him. “Seth, dear, I believe this is our dance.”
Morgan saw the frown crease Seth’s broad forehead, and guessed that he did not like Cynthia’s possessiveness. She spoke loudly, “There is my Aunt Lacey. If you would escort me to her, I’d like to sit down.”
He turned to Cynthia. “If you will excuse us, I will take Miss Wakefield to her aunt.”
They left, arm in arm, Cynthia glaring.
As they approached Aunt Lacey and the other women, a hush fell over the women’s talk. Morgan seated herself, and Seth said in a low voice. “I will see you tomorrow.” His smile held the same mocking quality that she had seen before.
“My dear,” asked the lady next to Aunt Lacey, after Seth had gone, “do you know who that is?”
“His name is Seth Colter.” She was curious to find out what the women knew.
“Have you heard of the Colter plantation outside Louisville?” At Morgan’s silence, she continued. “It is one of the largest and richest in the state, and it is all to be his some day. Yet he is throwing it away to live in some unholy place out west.”
Yes, Morgan knew this. She wanted to know more of this man who would be her husband in another day. She smiled when she thought how this overweight woman in damp, green satin would react to the news: “Do you mean that that dowdy little thing, Lacey’s niece, married rich, handsome Seth Colter?” Morgan caught herself before she laughed aloud.
She looked at the Green Lady and said innocently, eyes wide, “But I thought he and Cynthia Ferguson were practically engaged. Surely Cynthia wouldn’t go out west to live?”
“No,” said another woman, the lady in black whom Morgan had heard earlier. “That’s just what Caroline Ferguson would like to think. But that daughter of hers hasn’t snared him yet.”
“She’d just like everyone to assume they’re engaged,” echoed the Green Lady.
Morgan saw her Uncle Horace approach then, and she rose, knowing he and Aunt Lacey probably wanted to depart.
The three of them took their leave of Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, and Morgan searched the crowd to find Seth. She needed some reassurance from him. She saw his broad back far across the room, next to a pretty young woman, and she felt a wave of anger. Then she told herself that was silly.
All the way home in the plush-lined carriage, Morgan thought and planned. She would secretly rearrange her baggage so she’d be ready to leave when Seth came the next night.
With a start she remembered that she had not told him which window was hers. She would leave a light, and hope he would find it.
They arrived home after the short journey. After goodnights, she was at last alone in her room.
She took off the ugly brown dress and tossed it across the settee, unfastened her blond hair, and sighed. On impulse, she removed all her undergarments and looked at her nude body in the mirror. She looked at firm, round breasts, tapering to a small waist and flat stomach and then rounding out again to full hips and thighs. She ran her hand down the smooth skin of her waist, onto her hip. She shivered, shocked by what she was doing. No decent woman ever looked at her own naked body, much less at a mirror reflection.
Quickly, she turned from the mirror and slipped her nightgown over her head. But still, she remembered the image of her body. And she thought maybe she wouldn’t be so plain if she left her hair in curls.
Morgan climbed into bed and snuggled deep into the warm covers. Soon she was asleep.
She was up the next morning before the rest of the household. She had always liked the early morning and was at her best then. If she were at Trahern House, she could go to the stable, saddle Cassandra, and ride across the dew-covered fields.
Instead, she quietly went to the kitchen and made her own breakfast. One of the many indulgences her mother had given her was cooking lessons from a French chef. Her mother had been appalled when she had first found her little daughter in the kitchen helping Cook. She and Morgan had argued long over that, but in the end, her mother had given in. A month later, Jean-Paul arrived. He planned to stay six weeks, but had instead become a member of the family and stayed for a little over a year, until he had to return to Marseilles.
She remembered the many happy hours with Jean-Paul in the sunny, spacious kitchen at Trahern House, and she was glad that Jean-Paul had taught her so much about cooking. He had made her churn her own butter when she first started. Soon, she could make delicate preserves and jellies, and learned a light touch with breads and pastries.
“Morgan, dear,” came Aunt Lacey’s voice, “are you up so early?”
“Come in, Aunt Lacey, and I’ll make you some breakfast.” Morgan knew this might be their last breakfast together. She would miss Aunt Lacey’s gentleness.
Over fluffy omelets, oozing cheese, Morgan and Lacey discussed the ball. Or, rather, Lacey talked and Morgan listened.
After breakfast, each woman went to her own room to continue packing for the next day’s journey, the start of their long trip to Europe.
In the privacy of her room, Morgan began arranging things in the luggage. She packed a small trunk and one bag to be carried by hand, for the trip to New Mexico.
She had only the plain, too-large clothing that her uncle had commissioned a seamstress to sew for her. He had had her clothing from Trahern House taken away. The last item she packed was her recipe book.
At seven o’clock that evening, as they were sitting down to dinner, the Wakefields’ old servant announced, “A Mr. Colter to see you, sir.”
Morgan gasped audibly, and Horace and Lacey’s eyes turned on her, but she said nothing.
“Show him into the library, please, Roy. If you ladies will excuse me.” He turned one last puzzled glance to Morgan, then left the room.
“Is that the nice Mr. Colter you danced with last night?” At Morgan’s silence, Lacey continued, “I thought he was taken with you. I wouldn’t doubt but that he is here to ask permission to court you.”
“In Europe?”
Lacey looked down at her hands and was silent. She had been at the reading of the will. She knew why Horace was taking them to Europe.
Morgan regretted her comment and walked to Lacey’s side and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lacey. You’re probably right. Maybe he is here to speak to Uncle Horace about courtship.”
Lacey smiled and resumed her chattering. Morgan paced the room and watched the clock, hardly aware of Lacey’s words.
Forty-five minutes later, the door opened and Horace entered with Seth. Seth had a slight smile on his face, but Horace was grim and his voice cold.
“Get your things and go.”
It was Lacey’s turn to gasp. “Horace…” she protested weakly.
At the sound of his wife’s voice, Horace turned. His face lost some of its hatred, and his voice became softer. “It seems that Mr. Colter has come to take our Morgan away.” He paused. “They are to be married tonight at Judge Stevenson’s.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. What
in the world had Seth done to get Uncle Horace to consent to the marriage?
Lacey hugged the stunned Morgan. “Oh, Morgan! An elopement! How very romantic. What ever will you wear? We must pack. There is so much to do.”
Seth stepped forward and took Morgan’s arm. “We must hurry, my dear.” He led Morgan into the hall. He dropped her arm and his manner changed. He stepped back and looked her up and down with a mocking expression. “If the two articles of clothing I have seen are a correct indication of your wardrobe, leave it all here. I will purchase more suitable clothing for you—at least something that fits.”
Morgan was about to forget her good sense and tell him what she thought of his manners, when Horace and Lacey came into the entryway. Morgan turned on her heel and went up the stairs to her room.
She returned in a few minutes with only her small bag. In it were a few pieces of jewelry, her cookbook, her nightgown, and a few toilet articles. She would leave her carefully packed trunk upstairs.
After a tearful farewell to Lacey and a cold goodbye to Horace, she and Seth entered the waiting carriage.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Morgan spoke. “How did you do it?” she asked.
“How did I do what?” He turned toward her.
“What did you do to get Uncle Horace to allow me to leave?”
He smiled. “I just mentioned a few names and asked if he thought it was quite ethical to spirit you away, not allowing you to try to find a husband who could help you to fulfill your father’s will.”
She waited for him to say more, but he turned his head again and seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts. As they rode in silence, Morgan began to feel uncomfortable. She had never been alone with a man before, at least not with a man so near her own age.
“It just happened so differently than I imagined.”
He turned, startled, seeming for the first time to realize her presence. “And how did you imagine it?” His tone was condescending.
She felt like a child about to be reprimanded. “I…” she started, “left a light in my window…”