Lost Lady (James River Book 2)

TRAVIS STOPPED AT THE OPEN KITCHEN DOOR, DRAWN TO the smells coming from within. Chuckling, he remembered how Regan had always made him miss meals. With one glance about the room, he knew the luscious bit of curves and blonde hair in the corner was Brandy Dutton. He’d heard a lot about her from the weasel he’d met in Richmond.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly. “I wonder if I might get something to eat in here. I’m not exactly dressed for dining in public.”

“Oh my,” Brandy said in such a way, smiling openly at Travis’s wide chest and brawny arms, that Travis knew what he’d heard about her was true; Brandy was far from celibate.

She recovered herself. “So, you’re the man who put roses in Regan’s cheeks,” she said heartily, coming forward.

“I put roses somewhere,” he said quietly, for Brandy alone and not her staff, who were gaping unabashedly.

With a throaty laugh, Brandy took his arm. “I think we’re going to get along quite well. Now sit down, and I’ll get you something to eat. Elsie,” she called over her shoulder. “Run down to the mercantile store and get Mr. Stanford a couple of new shirts, the biggest Will has. And take your time getting back. We have a lot to talk about.”

Brandy fed Travis a meal such as he’d never had before. The more he ate of her food, the more she liked him, and between his shirtless state, the food, and his answers to her questions, she was practically in love by the end of the meal.

“Yes, she’s lonely,” Brandy said in answer to Travis’s question. “All she does is work. It’s like she’s been driven to prove something to herself. For years I’ve tried to get her to slow down, but she’ll never hear of it. She goes and goes all the time, buying more and more. She could have retired a year ago.”

“No men?” he asked, his mouth full of mince pie.

“A few hundred have tried, but no one has succeeded. Of course, when you’ve had the best….”

He smiled at her, took the new shirt from the chair back, and rose. “Regan and Jennifer are going to leave Scarlet Springs to return with me. How is that going to affect your partnership?”

“There’s a new lawyer here from back East, and he could handle selling the properties and investing the money. With my half, I might like to travel, maybe see Europe. Tell me, have you told Regan she’s leaving here?”

Travis only smiled in such a way that Brandy laughed. “Good luck,” she called as he left the kitchen.

For two days Regan managed to avoid Travis, or at least she was able to avoid another out-and-out argument. But no one could miss him physically. Jennifer seemed to think her father was her personal playmate, and the two of them never left each other’s sight. Travis even took over the task of washing his daughter’s long, snarled hair, and Regan was disgusted not to hear one screech of pain or protest from Jennifer. He took her riding and tree climbing, and she was impressed at her father’s agility. Jennifer showed him the whole town, announcing that he was her daddy and that she was going to go live with him and his horses.

Regan did her best to ignore Travis and his seduction of her daughter, as well as the countless questions from the townspeople.

Regan had not seen Farrell since the day Travis had arrived, and she was startled to realize, when he reappeared, that she had not thought of him in his two-day absence.

“May I speak to you privately?” he asked.

He looked tired and very dirty, as if he’d been traveling for days without sleep.

“Of course. Come to my office.” When they were inside the office, door closed, she turned to him. “You look as if you have something important to tell me.”

Collapsing into a chair, he looked up at her. “I have been all the way to Boston and back in two days.”

“It must have been urgent business,” she said, pouring him a drink. “I take it I and my father’s money are involved.”

“Yes, or at least your father’s will. There was a copy filed in an attorney’s office in Boston. I had it made and sent to America some time ago, just in case I did find you. I thought I was sure of one point in it, but I went to Boston to have it confirmed. I have here a letter,” he said, removing an envelope from his inside coat pocket.

Regan took it, held it for a moment. “Perhaps you could tell me what it says.”

“Your parents died when you were very young, and perhaps you don’t remember, but at that time your father’s brother was still alive. He was to be your guardian, and you did stay with him for a few months, but he died soon after your parents.”

“I remember only Uncle Jonathan.”

“Yes, he was the only other relation you had, so the executors of the will, your parents’ bank, put you into his care. They, of course, had no idea what sort of a man he was. At the time the will was written, your parents thought you would be safe with your father’s brother.”

“Farrell, please get to the point.”

“The point, my dear, is that you could not get married without your guardian’s permission. Perhaps they didn’t want you marrying a fortune hunter, or perhaps they didn’t want to see you go through the hell they did when they were cut off by her family without a penny.”

“Is that all? Surely there’s more to this,” she said.

“Regan, you don’t understand. You were married to Travis Stanford without your guardian’s written permission, and you were only seventeen.”

“Seventeen! No, I’d been eighteen for months.”

“In the letter is your actual date of birth. Your uncle tried to forge the date ahead so he could marry you off and get his money.”

Feeling a bit stunned, Regan leaned back against the desk. “You’re saying that my marriage to Travis isn’t valid, aren’t you?”

“Worthless. You were underage, a minor without your guardian’s consent. You are not, nor have you ever been, married to anyone, Miss Weston.”

“And Jennifer?”

“I’m sorry to say that she is illegitimate. Of course, if you were to marry again, the husband could adopt her.”

“I don’t think Travis would like someone else adopting his daughter,” she said quietly.

“To hell with Travis,” Farrell said, jumping up to stand before her. “I’ve waited for you for years. I’ve loved you for years. You can’t blame me for shying away from a seventeen-year-old child. Instinctively I must have sensed your tender years, and you can’t blame me for not wanting a child for a wife. At least I didn’t force you to my bed as that man who is Jennifer’s father did.”

He paused, taking her hand in his. “Marry me, Regan. I’ll make a good, faithful husband to you. Haven’t I loved you for many years already? And I’ll be a good father to Jennifer.”

“Please, Farrell,” she said, pulling away from him. “I must think about this. It’s come as a shock finding out I’ve lived in sin with a man for so many years. And this could hurt Jennifer badly.”

“That’s why—,” he began, but she put up her hand and cut him off.

“I need to be alone to think about this, and you,” she smiled, “need a bath and some rest.”

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 return 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.

She lost her serenity. “That is an example of your Colonial crudity.”

“And you, my dear, are an English snob. You said your birthday is in three weeks. You’ll marry me on that day, and you’ll do it willingly.”

With that, he left the room before he heard Regan gasp, “Never!”

Early the next morning, Regan, in her office, was bombarded with news from Brandy. First there were accusations because Travis had left the inn last night, and this morning he still hadn’t returned. Brandy’s looks showing her opinion that Regan was in the wrong were followed by a word of warning, for a tall, red-haired woman had just registered at the inn and was asking for her fiancé, Mr. Travis Stanford.

“Looks to me like you’ve got some trouble,” Brandy sighed.

“Oh good,” Regan answered in a tired voice. “Just what I need. Doesn’t anyone realize that it’s not easy to run an inn this size? I have days of work piled on my desk, and, by the way, Farrell has already informed me that Travis has left, and, before him, my daughter told me. Farrell, I’m sure, has much more to say to me, but Jennifer may never say another word in my presence. Now, the redhead has got to be my dear friend Margo Jenkins. Just let me have a few minutes to collect myself and I’ll be able to deal with her.”

Brandy nodded and left the room.

For several moments, Regan stood quietly in her bedroom, letting her mind take her back to that time of Margo’s visits to Travis’s plantation. Then, Regan had been so grateful to Margo for not being angry with her, for helping with the household staff, that Regan had not seen Margo’s insults for what they were. That Malvina! Regan thought. How she’d like to get her hands on that foul-tempered, lazy cook now. And Margo! Dear Margo lording it over the poor, insecure little wife, pretending to help but actually destroying what little confidence she did have.

Smiling, Regan left her office, stopped by the kitchen, and asked Brandy to prepare midmorning tea for two women. She ignored Brandy’s remarks about looking ready to do battle and then sent an invitation to Margo, asking her to tea in the library.

Margo appeared in an astonishingly short time, and Regan saw things she hadn’t seen before; years of dissipation were showing on Margo’s face and body. Late nights, rich food, overindulgence of every sort showed in lines and dark places, a thickening of the waist in spite of the tight lacing of her stays.

“My, my, it’s the little English flower,” Margo said as she entered. “I hear you own this place now. Who bought it for you?”

“Won’t you have a seat?” Regan said politely. “I’ve ordered some refreshments. Yes, I do own the inn.” Smiling innocently, she continued, “As well as the printer’s building, the lawyer’s, the doctor’s, the mercantile store, the blacksmith’s, the schoolhouse, the druggist’s, plus four farms outside the town and three hundred acres.”

Margo’s eyes blinked once, but otherwise she showed no change of expression. “And how many men have you slept with to get all that? Travis, I’m sure, would like to know.”

“How kind you are to say you think I’m worth so much,” Regan said enthusiastically. “But alas, I’m afraid I don’t have your skills of selling myself to get what I want. I had to use old-fashioned intelligence and hard work to get what I own. Whenever I had a spare bit of change, I didn’t spend it on a new gown but used it to bargain with to buy more land and more building materials.”

She stopped to answer the door to a very curious Brandy who was holding a large tray.

“How’s it going?” Brandy whispered.

Regan smiled smugly, making Brandy laugh as she handed her friend the tray.

When they were alone again, with the tray on a low table between them, Regan poured tea.

“Shall we begin again?” Regan asked. “It’s no use pretending that we’re friends. I take it you are here because you want my husband.”

Margo collected herself. This was not a battle she wanted to lose. “I see you have learned to pour tea,” she said.

“I have learned a great many things in the last few years. You’ll find I’m not so trusting as I once was. Now tell me what you want.”

“I want Travis. He was mine until you jumped into his bed, got yourself pregnant, and forced him to marry you.”

“That is one way of looking at the situation. Tell me, has Travis said he’d marry you if he were free of me?”

“He doesn’t have to tell me,” Margo said. “We were almost engaged when he met you, and the only problem is that he’s infatuated with you. He’s never had a woman leave him before, and it’s driving him wild.”

“If that is the case, if Travis likes women who leave him, why did you follow him here? Wouldn’t it have been better to stay away and let him return to you?”

“Damn you, you little bitch!” Margo snarled. “Travis Stanford is mine! He was mine long before you were out of short dresses. You left him! You stole his mother’s jewels and just walked off and left him. If I hadn’t found that note—.” She stopped abruptly.

Regan caught Margo’s eyes for a moment, her mind concentrating. All these years she’d wondered why Travis had never found her. She’d left a trail a child could have followed, but Travis had never even bothered. But if Margo had found the note first….

“Did he look for me for very long?” Regan asked quietly.

Standing, Margo glared down at her. “You don’t really expect me to tell you anything, do you? Just be warned. Travis is mine. I don’t believe you’re woman enough to fight me. I get what I want.”

“Do you, Margo?” Regan asked calmly. “Do you have a man who holds you at night while you cry or one you can tell your deepest secrets to? Do you know what it’s like to share, to love and be loved by someone?” Turning her head, she looked up at Margo. “Or do you think of people in terms of dollars and cents? Tell me, if you owned Scarlet Springs, would you be so interested in my husband?”

Margo started to speak but seemed to change her mind as, silently, she left the room.

When Regan put the teacup to her lips, she was surprised to find she was trembling. The questions she’d asked Margo were what she’d been asking herself and had not been aware of them. What did owning a town mean, anyway? She had friends here, people she’d come to love, but were they any substitute for one special person, someone who loved you even when you weren’t in the best of moods, someone to hold your head when you were sick, a special person who knew all your ugly parts and still loved you anyway?

Remembering Travis’s plantation and Stanford Hall, she knew that Jennifer should grow up there. Travis’s hundreds of relatives’ portraits were on the walls, and they were Jennifer’s ancestors, too. She deserved that sort of continuity, a place that was filled with security and peace, not the ever-changing interior of an inn.

Smiling, she leaned back against the chair. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to tell Travis he’d won. No doubt he’d gloat and tell her he knew he’d win. But who cared? It meant more to spend her life with the man she loved than to give it all up because of her silly pride. Besides, there’d be ways to repay him. Oh yes, she thought. She’d make him sorry he had ever bragged about anything.

“You certainly look pleased with yourself,” Brandy said.

Regan hadn’t heard her friend enter the room. “I was just thinking about Travis.”

“That would make me smile, too. So when are you leaving with him?”

“And what makes you assume—?” Regan began, then stopped at Brandy’s laugh. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s all true. You know, for years I was afraid of Travis, afraid his personality would devour me and I wouldn’t exist any longer.”

“But now you know you can hold your own,” Brandy said.

“Yes, and I realize he’s right, that his plantation is a better place for Jennifer. And what about you? How is it going to affect you if I leave Scarlet Springs? Should I get someone else to help run the inn?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Brandy said, holding up her hand. “Travis and I have arranged it all. There’ll be no problem.”

“Travis and you! You mean you…and my husband…? Behind my back?”

“The last I heard, he wasn’t your husband any longer. And of course I knew you’d leave here. Travis is not a man a woman can resist very long. Did you know what hell he went through trying to find you after you left? And that he’s been celibate since you left him?”

“What?” Regan asked as warmth spread over her. “How do you know any of this?”

“While you’ve been working, I’ve spent some time with Travis and Jennifer, and if you weren’t curious, I certainly have been. Would you like to hear some of what that dear man’s been through in the last few years?”

Brandy didn’t wait for Regan’s answer before she started on the long, detailed story of Travis’s ordeal. Most of his friends believed Regan had drowned, but Travis kept searching for her in spite of everyone telling him to give it up. At one point a preacher was urging him to conduct a funeral for his dear departed wife, thinking perhaps that would rid Travis of his obsession with her.

An hour later, Regan left the library, her head in the clouds. Ignoring Farrell, who called after her, she kept looking for Travis, eager to tell him she loved him, wanted to marry him, and would return to his home with him.

By the end of the day, when he still hadn’t appeared, some of her enthusiasm left her. Distractedly, she refused Farrell’s dinner invitation and spent the evening with her daughter. When the second night passed and she still hadn’t seen Travis, her euphoric state broke. Jennifer was sulking and shooting angry looks at her mother, Farrell was becoming quite persistent in his invitations, and Margo constantly asked Regan where Travis was.

By the third day, she wished she’d never heard of Travis Stanford. He couldn’t have left her after all he’d done to find her! Could he? Oh, please God, she prayed, flinging herself onto the bed that night. Please don’t let him have left me. For the first time in years, she began to cry. Damn you, Travis! she gasped. How many tears had that man made her shed?