The Wayward Heart Page 3

  During the following week, Bryony kept her word to Mr. Parker, for she did give the matter a great deal of scrutiny. In fact, it was never far from her thoughts. As she slowly adjusted to her father’s death, her natural good spirits gradually returned, and with them, the familiar yearning for adventure. The Circle H ranch provided the ideal means of satisfying her urge to travel west. Despite Roger Davenport’s casual assumption that her love for horseback riding lay behind this desire, Bryony knew differently. Oh, it was true enough that horses were a passion with her; she rode in the park at every opportunity, and those who knew her well and observed her with her mounts claimed that she had a special way with the animals. But it was more than the desire to ride which made her think constantly of the western frontier.

  Something about the vast, untamed wilderness held a powerful attraction for her, a lure that seemed to draw her irresistibly. Sometimes, she felt unbearably stifled by the forces that governed her life. And it seemed to her that the western frontier held out a promise of freedom, of a release from the multitude of restrictions under which she lived. Deep down, her heart yearned for this. Yet, dare she follow her instincts? Common sense advised against such a bold course.

  Her eastern life was comfortable, pleasant, and safe. When she finished her term at Miss Marsh’s School, she could marry Roger and live the rest of her life in luxury. Or she could go to the home of one of her relations, several of whom had already written to beg her to come to them. She would be pampered and spoiled, and treated to every kindness in their power. Both of these choices promised comfort and security. Why give them up for a life that would be filled with uncertainty?

  She’d be foolish to do so. At times, she was convinced of this. And at other times, she’d think of the open frontier, and her pulse would race...

  She was in a quandary, unable to decide what to do.

  As if she didn’t have enough on her mind, Bryony soon found herself in disgrace at the school. Miss Grayson had reported her improper conduct to Miss Marsh, and one week following the news of her father’s death, Bryony was reproachfully informed that she must be punished for her impropriety. All of her social privileges were revoked for a period of one month, which meant that she must retire to her quarters immediately after dinner each night, and must turn down her lamp by seven-thirty. She would not be permitted any social visitors during the entire period, but must confine her activities to classes, studying, and meals.

  Upon being informed of this penalty by a regretful but displeased Miss Marsh, Bryony choked back tears. She listened miserably to Miss Marsh’s lecture on the importance of propriety and decorum, unable to control a quirk of resentment at having her life so controlled.

  She’d lived eighteen years under the thumb of polite society’s tyranny and once, just once, she’d love to snap her fingers at its dictates and do as she pleased.

  Instead, she answered Miss Marsh quietly, then turned away to seek the sanctuary of her room. At that moment there was a knock upon the office door.

  “Yes?” Miss Marsh inquired in her soft, pretty voice.

  When the door opened, Bryony started. Roger Davenport entered, looking fit and handsome, his brown derby hat in his hand. He looked surprised to see her and flushed just a bit as he glanced quickly away to address the headmistress.

  “Good day, ma’am,” he began nervously, fidgeting with his hat. “I... I didn’t mean to interrupt... that is, I can wait outside if this is an inconvenient time, but I... I would like your permission, ma’am, for a visit with Miss Hill.”

  Miss Marsh regarded him carefully. Bryony had never revealed the identity of the young man who’d visited her in the moonlit courtyard, but Roger Davenport was her most attentive suitor, and he seemed the likely culprit. Yet, he was such a well-mannered, proper young man. Not at all the type to engage in scandalous conduct. Miss Marsh couldn’t be sure that he was the secret visitor. She decided to say nothing of the matter, since she had no specific reason to reproach him.

  But should she permit a private visit after just informing Bryony Hill of her social restrictions? The headmistress glanced from one to the other of them. Bryony was pale, her eyes wide and anxious. Roger Davenport had flushed in agitation while waiting for a reply. She felt rather sorry for both of them. Despite her primness, Miss Marsh well remembered the urgency of young lovers.

  “Very well,” she finally assented, rising from her desk. “You may have ten minutes alone in this room. And then, Bryony, the penalty period shall begin. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Marsh. Thank you.”

  Bryony could barely contain herself until Miss Marsh departed, then she whirled toward Roger.

  “Oh, Roger, it’s so good to see you! Why haven’t you come sooner?” There was a catch in her voice. “I sent you a note the moment I heard about my father, I begged you to come to me, and I never received even a word in response. Where have you been?”

  “I received your note, Bryony, and I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything. But first, tell me what that woman meant about a penalty period. Are you in some kind of trouble because of my visit?”

  “Yes.” She sank into a chair. “All of my social privileges have been withdrawn for the next month, commencing immediately after you leave today. Not that it matters. None of it matters.”

  “Damn. I never meant for you to suffer on my account.” He knelt by her chair, grasping her hands in his own, and gazing at her with sorrowful brown eyes.

  Bryony searched his face. After the news of her father’s death she’d longed to see Roger, to pour out her grief and loneliness to him, to share with him her sense of loss. She’d needed him then, and she’d sent for him. Begged him to come to her.

  But he hadn’t responded.

  And he hadn’t come.

  “Didn’t you get my letter? Roger, where have you been? I don’t understand—”

  “Of course, I received your letter and I wanted more than anything to be by your side, Bryony. But I had to be careful, darling. I feared that they’d suspect me—if it became publicly known that I was the one who met with you so improperly that night, it could be most damaging to my career. You know how word spreads. And a scandal like that—”

  He broke off at the stunned expression on her face.

  “Not that I didn’t think of you constantly, and yearn to be with you,” he added hastily. “Believe me, Bryony, you have my every sympathy and condolence regarding your father. I know it must have been a dreadful ordeal for you, and I’d have done anything in my power to ease your grief—”

  “Except come to me when I needed you,” she said slowly.

  For a moment they merely stared at each other, then Roger cleared his throat. But he didn’t say a word.

  She pulled her hands free of his, fighting the anger rising in her.

  “Bryony, come now. Be reasonable. It was just too great a risk—it didn’t seem safe to visit you, or even write to you, until some time had passed. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you—I do. Of course, I do. But preserving a respectable reputation is of great importance to a man in my position! You must understand—”

  “Roger, I do understand. All too well. And I... I think you should leave.”

  He frowned. “Leave? Why?”

  “Because if you care more about what society thinks of you than you care for me, I don’t believe there’s much love between us at all.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. You really ought to learn to watch your tongue.” He shook his head in disapproval. “This isn’t the first time you’ve shown what can only be described as a somewhat unladylike temper, Bryony. It isn’t at all becoming, I assure you.”

  An unladylike temper? She stared at him, then drew herself up straighter. “Has someone given you the right to sit in judgment of me?”

  “Who has a better right? A husband has a right to demand proper conduct from his wife. And I can see that I’ll have my work cut out for me. I must tell you, Bryony, there are times when the liveli
ness of your spirits causes you to behave with a shade too much license to suit my tastes. When you become my wife—”

  “Your wife?” She stared at him. “Roger, didn’t you hear what I said? Don’t you understand? I have no intention of seeing you again—let alone marrying you!”

  “Is that so?” A hard note crept into his voice. Crossing his arms, he stared at her with a smug expression. “And if I don’t marry you, what will you do? You’re in disgrace here at the school, your father is dead, and you have nowhere to go, other than the home of some damned relative who probably doesn’t want you anyway! You’re a woman alone. You need me, Miss High-and-Mighty Bryony Hill. Whether you like it or not, my dear girl, you need me!”

  There was a moment of taut silence while Bryony fought to bring her temper under control. For an instant, she wanted to scream at Roger, to throw something at him, but that instant passed. Her sense of dignity took over and instead of attacking him, she managed to summon a tight smile.

  “You’re wrong, Roger. I don’t need you or anyone else. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

  “And what will you do after I walk out that door?” he demanded, eyes narrowed.

  She rose to her feet. “I’ll go west,” she replied calmly. “To my father’s ranch in the Arizona Territory.”

  Chapter Three

  The stage depot was located in the front lobby of the Liberty Hotel, a respectable, three-story, rose brick building surrounded by a gleaming black wrought-iron fence. Inside, wooden benches lined the walls of the small, square hotel lobby, providing seats for the passengers who were waiting for their coaches. At the early hour of seven in the morning, the room was already crowded, and bustling with excitement.

  Bryony entered the depot on the arm of Mr. Parker, glancing eagerly about at the milling people, wondering which of those in the room would be fellow passengers on her journey west. She had little time for these musings, however, for Mr. Parker led her immediately to the ticket window, where he purchased a one-way ticket for her on the eight o’clock stage bound for San Francisco, via El Paso and Tucson.

  There was a worried crease in the lawyer’s balding forehead as he handed her the ticket. Mr. Parker didn’t approve of this venture in the least, and he hadn’t hesitated to tell Bryony so often. Both he and Miss Marsh had pleaded with her to abandon this wild notion, but to no avail. Even Miss Marsh’s desperate offer to repeal the punishment had no effect on her plans.

  Bryony looked enchantingly lovely this morning in a gown of soft, dove-gray velveteen, trimmed at the throat and wrists with delicate white lace. Her long, black curls flowed gently about her shoulders beneath a smart little hat of the same dove-gray velveteen as her gown, which tied beneath her chin with ribbons of black satin. Perhaps it was the excitement of the morning, or else the dusky lighting in the lobby, but her green eyes had unusual brilliance as she gazed about her, like flames of green in an ivory face. Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, and Mr. Parker felt himself grow almost breathless at the sight of her beauty. His kindly heart was heavy with fear as he contemplated the fate of this ravishing innocent alone in the untamed west.

  “Is everything set then?” Bryony asked suddenly, raising her eyes to smile hopefully at him.

  “Yes, all is in order,” he replied, with a sigh. “Miss Hill, are you quite sure...?”

  “Quite!” She answered with a laugh. “Now do stop worrying, Mr. Parker! I intend to prove to you and everyone else that I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

  Five days had passed since her final encounter with Roger Davenport, and during that time she’d set her plans into motion with incredible determination and speed. Each passing day had increased her conviction that she’d made the right decision. This was her journey to freedom, to a new life, and she welcomed it with eager anticipation, hardly able to contain her impatience to be on her way, speeding along unfamiliar roads, along plains and prairies, through desert and mountains.

  There was a crackling undercurrent of excitement in the depot of which she was thrillingly aware; she felt totally caught up in the mood of adventure that always accompanies travelers. Perhaps later, she reflected, she would miss her friends at Miss Marsh’s School, and look back on her eastern life with pleasant nostalgia. But at the moment her mind was filled with the bright new world ahead of her, and she could scarcely concentrate on anything else. She had to force herself to pay attention as Mr. Parker secured seats for them at the far end of one of the wooden benches, and began nervously to review her travel plans with her for yet another time.

  The town of Winchester was situated fifty miles east of Tucson, near the banks of the San Pedro River. Fifteen days of night and day travel would be required to reach it, with regular stops at relay stations along the way to change horses and drivers. Winchester itself served as a relay station on the route west to Tucson and San Francisco. It was not by any means a large town, but it was strategically located along the stagecoach road. However, the lawyer warned her, before reaching this far-off destination she would be required to endure a journey that would be long and uncomfortable, and dangerous as well. The latter part of it would be through Apache Territory.

  “Yes, Mr. Parker,” she acknowledged with a little smile. “You have told me so before, at great length.”

  “Hmph. Not that it did much good.” He frowned.

  “Please, go on,” Bryony teased, her eyes dancing. “I believe you were going to remind me that you’ve telegraphed Judge Hamilton, asking him to meet my stage. You’ve only reviewed that part of my itinerary a scant half-dozen times. Surely I need be reminded again!”

  Despite his concern, Mr. Parker couldn’t help grinning sheepishly. He conceded that she must be quite tired of hearing his instructions, but his conscience wouldn’t let him cease until he felt certain she was completely prepared for this journey. So he continued determinedly.

  “Yes, that is quite correct. The Judge is to meet your stage and then drive you out to the Circle H ranch house, which is, I understand, only ten or twelve miles outside of town.”

  At that moment there was a commotion in the doorway, and two women made their entrance into the lobby: one, a tall, buxom matron in a bustled gown of turquoise silk; the other, apparently her daughter, a pale, haughty-looking blonde girl elegantly attired in apricot satin so stiff that it rustled loudly when she walked. Both women wore high, fancy plumed hats to match their gowns, and carried embroidered reticules and parasols. They were followed into the lobby by two servants struggling with an assortment of heavy trunks and bandboxes, but the two women, aside from imperiously directing the servants to be careful of how they handled the baggage in their charge, seemed oblivious of anything or anyone else in the room.

  They swept past Bryony and Mr. Parker, as well as the other fascinated occupants of the room, to confront the clerk, loudly demanding two seats on the next stagecoach bound for San Francisco.

  “It looks as if those two ladies will be traveling with you,” Mr. Parker remarked drily. “Unfortunately, they don’t appear to be the most sociable of creatures. I had hoped there would be someone on the stage who could provide you with some friendly female companionship.”

  “They do appear very fine and haughty, don’t they?” she whispered back amusedly, watching the elegant pair oblige several gentlemen to surrender their seats, and then settle down majestically. “One would think they owned the entire hotel and stagecoach line combined, the way they took command of this lobby. I believe it shall be a very interesting journey!”

  Bryony was not easily daunted by the airs put on by others. She knew herself to be well-dressed and well-mannered, and felt herself the equal of any company. So, when the pale blonde girl and her imposing mother happened to glance her way, she smiled at them in a friendly manner, quite willing to promote a sociable relationship with two of her fellow passengers. To her amazement, both mother and daughter returned her smile with cold, disapproving stares before letting their gazes travel disin
terestedly down the row of travelers.

  She felt a blush burn her cheeks at their open disdain, and she looked quickly away in confusion. Snubbed! By those pompous, arrogant peacocks! Her hands clenched angrily into tight little fists in her lap, but after a moment or two she managed to recover her composure. As the indignation drained away, it was replaced by a firm decision. Though she couldn’t help wishing that those two unpleasant women were not going to be her traveling companions for the next fifteen days, she was determined that they shouldn’t ruin her enjoyment of the trip, and she resolved to ignore them. From all indications, they intended to keep very much to themselves, and from what Bryony had observed of their manners, that would suit her just fine.

  As she glanced about the crowded lobby, she became aware for the first time that she was the subject of much bold interest. A young man in a dark suit was studying her admiringly from an opposite bench, and several men lounging about the ticket counter were staring quite brazenly at her. She was glad, suddenly, of the presence of Mr. Parker. For a brief moment, she felt a twinge of uncertainty. Once she boarded the stagecoach, she would no longer be under the lawyer’s protection; she would be alone. She would have to handle any such problems herself.

  Presently, there was a loud jingle of harnesses outside, and the rhythmic drum of horses’ hooves rapidly approaching. Mr. Parker glanced at his pocket watch.

  “Here it is,” he said resignedly. “The eight o’clock stage. I suppose we’d best go outside and transfer your baggage from my carriage. If you’re still determined to leave, that is. You know, Miss Hill, it’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Bryony leaned over impulsively to kiss his cheek. “I’m not changing my mind, Mr. Parker. But thank you for your concern, and for all your help. You’ve been wonderful. And when I write you from the Arizona Territory telling you how wildly happy I am, you’ll realize that you had no cause to worry. Just wait and see!”