Cowgirl for Keeps. Louise Gouge M.
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that this Scripture verse was a command from the Lord. Garrick must demonstrate God’s love to the young lady by thinking well of her rather than assuming some fault on her part. After all, her care for her friend indicated a nurturing spirit, as did her desire to establish an upper school in this wilderness. In any event, he must work with her, so he’d do well to develop a positive outlook.
As instructed, he made the Colonel’s office his own, spreading out his carefully made plans on the large exquisite oak desk. He’d worked with an architect in London before coming to America and knew exactly what to build. Uncle insisted he spare no expense, but of course Garrick wouldn’t misuse his generosity.
“Good morning.” Rosamond entered the room carrying a tray laden with beverages and fruit tarts.
Garrick’s heart seemed to stop. Her gown was the color of daffodils, a shade of yellow few ladies wore well, yet it warmed her complexion to a lovely glow. How beautiful she was, especially when she smiled. Even her eyes shone with enthusiasm, a good sign this meeting would go well.
His heart hammering with this unexpected admiration for her, he stood and walked around the desk. “Permit me?” He took the tray and set it on a side table. Should he compliment her? Tell her she was beautiful? No, of course not. This was a business meeting, not a party. “I don’t suppose this is tea?” Oh, bother. That surely sounded like a complaint.
She laughed. He sighed with relief.
“If you recall—” she poured steaming black coffee from the elegant porcelain pot into matching cups “—our two countries don’t share a good history in regards to tea.”
“No, but—” the twinkle in her eyes alerted him that she meant the remark to be humorous “—if I’m not mistaken, the relationship between our governments has changed considerably since 1773. After the passing of more than a century, surely we’ve managed to persuade you as to the superiority of tea over coffee.”
She handed him a cup, leaving him to add his own cream and sugar. He added considerable amounts of both to minimize the brew’s bitter taste.
“I’ll admit an occasional cup of tea makes a nice change. Many Americans prefer it.” She took a sip and eyed him over the porcelain rim. “In my opinion, nothing beats coffee to help get the day going.”
“Ah, well. To each his own. Or her own.” This was hardly a matter to argue over. “I brought some gifts for your parents but haven’t yet presented them. Among them is a tin of Earl Grey tea, which has become a favorite among—” he started to say “the British aristocracy,” but an inner voice stopped him “—many of my friends.”
“I heard of Earl Grey tea at finishing school.” She appeared to pucker away a smile. “You know the earl, of course?”
“Of course.” The words were out before he could stop them. She’d baited him, and he’d bitten. Now he must try to fix the damage. “Not well, though. And he’s the third Lord Grey. The tea is named for the second Lord Grey.”
“Be sure to tell Mother when you give her the tea.” She stepped behind the desk and began to study the drafts. “She always enjoys little tidbits of history like that.” She spoke absently, as if finished with the topic. Or perhaps the drawings distracted her. “So you think the Palladian style is appropriate for our hotel?” Disapproval colored her words.
While impressed by her knowledge of the architectural style, Garrick suddenly felt defensive. She’d learned of the hotel only three days ago, yet she would criticize his many months of hard work? Disparage a building design by London’s finest architects?
“Of course. What could draw travelers from Europe to this wilderness better than a hotel built in the grand style to which they’re accustomed?” Bother! That definitely sounded arrogant. He was tempted to bite his tongue. No matter what she said, he must be a gentleman.
She eyed him and smirked. “Oh, maybe something different. Something more in keeping with the wilderness they’ve come to see.”
The steel-like tone in her voice set his nerves on edge and fortified his defenses. Was this a trick? A test? Or did she actually mean to sabotage the one project upon which his entire future rested?
* * *
The steely glint in Garrick’s eyes signaled war, and she would gladly cross swords with him. These past few days, she’d come up with her own plans for the hotel. Some of the girls at the academy swooned over all things English, but no Englishman was going to try to reconquer her part of America while she could prevent it.
Love thy neighbor as thyself. The inner voice was soft but persistent. She knew the imprudence of failing to listen to it.
With a sigh, she dropped down into Father’s chair. “I can see you’ve been working for some time on these plans. Why don’t you show me what you’ve done?”
He tilted his head as if uncertain he’d heard her correctly. She swallowed a laugh. Apparently he’d expected a conflict as much as she.
“Well, um...” He came around the desk to stand beside her and shuffled through the papers as if looking for something. As he bent over her shoulder, the scent of bergamot filled her senses in a very pleasant way. Bergamot, the essence that flavored Earl Grey tea. Maybe she’d like the beverage more than expected. “It’s true that I’ve envisioned a grand hotel in the European tradition, but when you hear everything, I believe you’ll approve.” At last he pulled out a crisp white page. “Here is a list of my plans.”
She didn’t correct his word plans, but in her mind, she translated it to ideas.
“Lord Westbourne has been very generous with the funds allotted for the project because he hopes the hotel will draw the most august guests from among Europe’s aristocracy and nobility, perhaps even royalty.”
“Hmm.” Rosamond wouldn’t let herself say more. He didn’t know how much she disdained those very people. If they’d had their way in the past century, the United States wouldn’t even exist, would still be colonies enslaved to the whims of a ruthless monarch and the unfeeling nobility in the House of Lords. And now that America was a prosperous country, many titled men came over here to marry heiresses, wealthy girls who coveted those titles and forgot what this country was all about. Rosamond didn’t care about drawing European aristocrats to the hotel. Wealthy Americans from the East would come by the droves to experience what the Wild West offered.
“If you will notice—” his voice filled with enthusiasm, Garrick pointed to names at the bottom of the draft “—the hotel was designed by Messrs. Henman and Harrison, the architectural firm that designed the National Penny Bank in London. I’ve contacted Messrs. Aitohison and Walker, who built that very bank just three years ago. They await my wire and, upon receiving it, will send a team to execute the construction of the building.”
Rosamond looked up at him. “Anything else?” She might as well hear everything before unfolding her own plans.
His eyes sparkled, and for the first time, she noticed they were brown. A very nice brown with flecks of amber to catch the light shining through the west window. “The guest rooms will of course be furnished with the finest oak and mahogany furniture from English carpenters and velvet drapes from France. Again, I have simply to wire the firms I’ve engaged, and they’ll ship the items at once or build them to suit.” He questioned her with one raised eyebrow, and she nodded for him to continue. “I’ve also engaged a French chef and a staff of English waiters. And of course a sommelier.”
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