To Win Her Favor Page 10

  “Well, it’s been a long day. I think—” Mr. Linden started to rise then leaned heavily on the table.

  His daughter jumped to his aid, the same time as Cullen.

  “I can help him!” She wrapped an arm around her father’s waist.

  “Best let Cullen do this, my dear.” Her father patted her back. “He all but had to carry me down the stairs this morning.”

  Miss Linden finally stepped back, and Cullen took hold of the man’s arm. But he saw the hurt and anger in her eyes.

  A while later, when Cullen returned downstairs, Miss Linden was nowhere to be found. He’d been gone longer than he’d expected due to her father’s fondness for conversation. He appreciated the older man’s company, so it was mutual. However . . .

  He and Margaret Linden needed to have a conversation of their own. Preferably before retiring. He wanted to say some things to her, and he was certain—based on the woman’s facial expressions alone—that she had things to say to him.

  He wanted to reassure her of his intent, to tell her that despite their less than amiable beginning he held hope that in time they would grow to care for each other. Same as so many other couples in similar situations had done, as her father pointed out. Even though, at present, he didn’t see how that was going to happen.

  In all his life he’d never imagined a wedding day like this one. Nor a wedding night where he couldn’t even find his bride.

  The sun had set when he walked outside to the porch. The fragrance of lavender scented the breeze, and he breathed in the night air. The meadows and fields lay pale, almost alabaster, beneath the moonlight, and above him a million stars shone with bright abandon.

  Where do stars come from, Da?

  Cullen’s throat closed. As much as he cherished his memories, sometimes he wished he could close himself off from them, so painful they were. Especially in light of his current situation and how unwelcome he was in this house. At least by the one who would matter most.

  Well, my sweet Katie, the stars are diamonds that God himself cast across the night sky so you, me, and your ma would have somethin’ to look at as we lay atop this blanket.

  He closed his eyes and could almost imagine the way she’d laughed at his story. He was back in the moment with little Katie’s head on his shoulder and her tiny hand tucked safely—

  “As you’re obviously aware, Mr. McGrath, my father is vulnerable and desperate, and eager to trust you. But please don’t make the mistake of applying those same attributes to me. Especially not the latter. I see this situation for exactly what it is.”

  Torn from his memories and half grateful for the rescue, Cullen looked down and barely made out Miss Linden’s silhouette at the base of the steps. Yet despite her tone being sweetly cordial, at least on the surface, he sensed his pretty young bride was itching for a fight.

  Chapter

  NINE

  Furthermore, sir, I believe it would be best if we could come to an understanding from the outset. We both are well aware that the—”

  Cullen lifted a hand in truce, feeling as though he’d been dropped headfirst into a conversation that had left the station without him. “Back up a wee mite, if you would, ma’am. Just what ‘situation,’ may I ask, do you think you see? And so exactly.”

  “This.” She exhaled, gesturing between them. “Our . . . marriage. To pretend that this is anything other than a . . . a business arrangement is absurd.” She gave a laugh, but the sound held no humor.

  Cullen blinked. “A business arrangement?” He heard the surprise in his own voice.

  “That’s precisely what it is, Mr. McGrath,” she said, her voice evenly demure. “You would not have married me, and I most certainly would never have married a man like you, if you hadn’t decided you wanted Linden Downs.”

  “How do you do that?” he asked almost without thinking.

  “Do what?” Wariness edged her tone.

  “Say somethin’ so mean-spirited with such politeness to your voice. It must be somethin’ you people teach each other when you’re young.”

  “You people? Are you intentionally trying to insult me now?”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Isn’t that what you just did to me? Tell me you’d never, not in a hundred lifetimes, ever choose to marry a wretched bloke such as myself? Because that’s precisely what I heard.”

  “W-well, that’s . . . not what I said.”

  “What did you say then? Or more importantly, what do you wish you could say to me, Miss Linden? Maybe that’s where we should start, ma’am. Forget all this polite savagery and just get on with it.”

  She scoffed. “That’s how your people do it, I presume.”

  “Aye, it is. We know how to fight. But we come at each other straight on, ma’am. No knives in the back.”

  He would’ve sworn he sensed her back go rigid.

  “Mr. McGrath.” She raised her chin, the thinnest veneer of civility skimming her tone. “I believe it would best serve us both to keep our—”

  “Aren’t you the least bit mad at me?” It was clear the woman needed some priming, and he was happy to oblige. Best get this out now, so the thing could heal. If it was going to. “What would best serve us both,” he said, imitating her hoity-toity tone as best he could, “is if you would stop shootin’ daggers at me every time you look my way. Just go ahead, take aim, and throw.”

  “That’s what you want? For me to say exactly what I think?”

  “Aye, ma’am.” He sighed. “Me, and all the angels in heaven. The whole lot of us would be pleased.”

  She took a step forward. “I do not appreciate being spoken to in such a condescending manner.”

  “Do you appreciate me standin’ here now on what’ll soon be my front porch?”

  That did it. He could feel her anger from where he stood.

  “You wanted our land, Mr. McGrath. You saw an opportunity to take it from us, and you did. So yes, I’m angry. I realize, however, that you likely see your role in this as a benevolent soul. Buying the land and then allowing the poor widower and his destitute daughter to stay in their own home.”

  She said it with all the flair of a street actor back in London, but with that Southern touch. But he decided now might not be the best time to make such an observation.

  “What I see most when I look at you, Mr. McGrath, is a man who took advantage of a father who, yes, is desperate to make certain his daughter is provided for. I see a man who pounced on the opportunity to marry a woman of landed gentry, somehow thinking that his purchase of such an estate would fill the deficit of his own lack of family breeding while bolstering his social status.” She took a quick breath. “But I can tell you right now that your plan, on that last count, will not work. Right or wrong, you will never be accepted in this town.”

  Feeling the cut of her words, and the sting of truth scattered among them, Cullen was grateful Mr. Linden was already abed. Only a short while ago the man had said how well he’d thought today had gone and how he believed his daughter would adjust given time. Cullen briefly closed his eyes.

  And to think he’d held a sliver of the same hope. Especially when looking into her expression today as they stood together before the pastor. Aye, she seemed nervous, even frightened, but for half a heartbeat, after he placed the ring on her finger, when he leaned to brush a chaste kiss on her forehead, he thought he’d seen a possibility of . . .

  Well, no matter. He’d hoped Margaret Linden was more like her father and less like everyone else in town. But it seemed he was mistaken. And if he was hurt by anything she’d said just now, he had only himself to blame. After all, he’d egged her on.

  Regardless, she was right, especially in one sense. They needed to get some things straight between them. And now it was his turn. “Miss Linden—”

  He descended the porch steps, and she took a quick backward stride. Was the woman frightened of him? Cullen stopped where he was.

  “To be clear, ma’am, I did not take your land. I bought it
, as you said yourself. Or I will, tomorrow. And as for marryin’ you today, you’re right. Without this land between us, you and I would never have crossed paths, of that I’m sure. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not the only one who said ‘I do’ today.”

  “I had no choice in the matter.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ma’am, and it’s a lesson that cost me dearly, it’s that one always has a choice. You chose to marry me because if you didn’t, in two weeks time you would’ve lost everything. So some might say it’s you who used me—and my money. But now you get to keep your home, your horse, all your things. So the way I see it, we both did the marryin’ today because we wanted somethin’. And for the both of us, that somethin’ outweighed the cost of this marriage. It’s as simple as that—” He hesitated. Did he dare? Aye, he thought he would. “Mrs. McGrath.”

  He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. Her slender shoulders tightened, and her hands curled into tiny knots as though she wished she could wallop him. The thought made him smile. Which wouldn’t have gone over well, he knew. Fortunately for him, it was dark.

  Her breath quickened as though she was gaining steam for a second round. “You’re correct, Mr. McGrath, at least in part. I didn’t want to lose my home, my family’s land. My horse,” she added softly. “And I’m . . . grateful to you for allowing us to keep Linden Downs.” She ground out the words. “But the true motivation behind what I did today was for my father. After last night . . . seeing him like that, I—” Her voice caught. “I realized that if I didn’t do this, if I didn’t . . . marry you . . .”

  The words came in a whisper. Not with disdain, as had colored her tone earlier, but rather with a deep vein of regret. Which somehow wounded him even more.

  “. . . then my father’s distress about what would happen to me in the future, once he’s no longer here to provide, would be too much for him. And coupled with losing this land he loves so much . . . Well, I don’t think he would live through that. And he’s all I have left.”

  She bowed her head, and even though she made no sound, Cullen knew she was weeping. And even though she’d been the one to pick the fight, he felt every bit the boorish fool he’d been.

  “Miss Linden, I—”

  “Please . . .” She looked up, her voice a whisper. “Don’t patronize me. And please don’t stand there thinking that you and I are the same. Because we are not.” She exhaled a shaky breath.

  Tempted to defend his actions, as well as to correct her misassumption about his pouncing on the chance to marry her, Cullen held his tongue. Nothing he said right now would be heard. She was hurt and angry, and he couldn’t say he blamed her. But he also couldn’t just tell her to go on her merry little way. Because he’d given Mr. Linden his word that, in exchange for the land, he would protect his daughter and would do the same with her home and everything else.

  And he intended to keep that promise. No matter what. Just as he was keeping his promise to his first wife.

  Maggie skirted around him but heard Cullen’s footsteps close behind.

  Heart pounding, she couldn’t believe she’d actually said some of the things she’d said. In a way, she was glad. But in another . . . she regretted having revealed such fragile feelings to him. She’d kept telling herself not to cry, do not cry, and then she’d cried anyway.

  The weight of the day had taken its toll, and she was ready to put it behind her. Sad to feel that way about what should have been a joyous occasion.

  She paused in the hallway, the house still and seeming so empty.

  As usual when she worked late in the stable, Onnie had turned down the lamps in every room on the main floor save one at the foot of the staircase. Right now Maggie wished that Cletus and Onnie lived in this house, instead of in a cabin some distance away with others that had stood empty since the war. She would have welcomed company.

  Her father was upstairs, she knew, and already asleep, Bucket at the foot of his bed. And she suddenly felt very much alone with Cullen McGrath. And on this, their wedding night.

  But surely, under the circumstances, and especially after their exchange outside, the man wasn’t assuming that they would share a bed. Maggie flushed just thinking about it. She certainly had no plans for anything of the sort!

  Her four older brothers had taught her many things, God bless them. Among the lessons was that the majority of a male’s thoughts were centered upon one thing and one thing only—females, to put it delicately. If ever you’re in doubt about the direction of a man’s thinking, Maggie, Oak had cautioned her, especially after she finally got her shape and his friends started noticing, just assume that’s where their thoughts are takin’ ’em, little sister.

  Deciding to head Cullen McGrath off at the pass, she retrieved the lamp from the side table and hurried up the stairs. “I’ll show you to your room, Mr. McGrath.” She didn’t wait for a response.

  Reaching the second-floor landing, she took an immediate left and paused outside Oak’s old room, the one she’d asked Onnie to make ready earlier that afternoon. It was the larger of the two unoccupied bedrooms, but the main reason for her choice was its location—on the opposite end and side of the hallway from hers.

  Oak’s room was also right next to her father’s, and she’d recently thought about moving into it. But she always left their doors ajar at night and was able to hear him should he need anything.

  A lamp burned low on the bedside table, and what few belongings Mr. McGrath had retrieved from his boarding room in town before dinner had been deposited beside the bed.

  “Here you are, Mr. McGrath.” She kept her voice low so as not to waken her father. “I trust you’ll be comfortable.” She nodded. “Good night.”

  She was halfway down the hall when she heard him whisper, “And which one is your room, Miss Linden?”

  She paused, then looked back to see him standing exactly where he’d been, and she panicked. “My room?” What if he did have . . . husbandly expectations?

  She broke out in a cold sweat. And in a blink she was a girl again, and she and Savannah had “accidentally” been snooping in one of her brothers’ bedrooms when they found a stack of drawings. Drawings of scantily clad women. Why her brothers would ever want such things made no sense. But what stood out in Maggie’s memory most was the frank conversation Oak had with her afterward. Knowing Ma, she’s not likely to ever say any of this to you, and it’s time you knew at least a little.

  Growing up on a farm, Maggie was familiar with how the animals often played with each other. But not until that enlightening conversation with her eldest brother had she begun to understand the full meaning of the word play.

  Even now, some ten years later, she still had plenty of unanswered questions.

  Cullen McGrath took a step toward her. “Aye,” he said softly. “Your room. You know, where you sleep at night and waken come morn? I take it that room there is your father’s.” He nodded toward Papa’s partially opened door.

  She swallowed. “I-I’m on the other side of the hallway.” She didn’t bother pointing to which of the three remaining closed bedroom doors was hers, preferring to leave it ambiguous, at least for tonight. “Why?” she asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

  Even in the dim lamplight she detected a sparkle in his eyes, and something about him—his offhanded manner, perhaps, or the way he seemed not to care what others thought, her included—had an effect on her. Despite his being Irish.

  He stood there watching her as if he had all the time in the world, and yet wasn’t bothered by time at all. And those eyes. Eyes that saw too much, she feared. At times, when he looked at her, she got the impression he was laughing at her, even though not a hint of a smile touched his face.

  Like now, for instance.

  He took another step forward. “I’m curious to know which room is yours . . . in the event your father needs you during the night. My room is close to his. I might hear him when you might not.”

 
; Maggie started to respond that she slept with her door open, but quickly decided to keep that to herself. “My room is the last door on the right.” She gestured. “But not to worry, I can hear my father perfectly well. We’ve managed to get along just fine without any help until now.” Begrudgingly, though, she had to admit, his consideration was a kind one, even if out of character.

  Mr. McGrath said nothing, only cocked his head and stared. And there it was again—that sense that he was laughing at her.

  Maggie gathered her nerve. “It’s late, Mr. McGrath. And I recommend we retire. Each to our own rooms,” she added quickly, then had another thought. “Best we leave for town first thing in the morning. I have other errands to run, as I imagine you will as well.”

  “I can leave whenever you like.”

  She nodded. Going earlier would lessen the chance of anyone she knew seeing them together. She couldn’t keep their marriage hidden forever, or even for long in this town, but she would appreciate the chance to get accustomed to the idea herself before having others offer their opinions. And with the Tax and Title Office on the same street as Miss Hattie’s Dress and Drapery Shop, where Savannah was employed, the earlier in the day they left and returned the better.

  She intended to tell Savannah about Mr. McGrath. And Mary too. But she preferred to do it without Cullen McGrath around, so she could answer the 101 questions Savannah and Mary would pepper her with.

  Mary . . .

  Maggie had almost forgotten about General Harding’s request to meet Mr. McGrath. The general’s pointed mention of her use of Belle Meade’s training facilities for her riding lessons had made it clear his request was not to be ignored. And yet . . .

  If Mr. McGrath met General Harding, and they began talking thoroughbreds and Linden Downs and Bourbon Belle, then—Maggie felt the size of her world shrink by half. No, that would not do.

  She couldn’t have Mr. McGrath finding out about her racing Bourbon Belle before she’d laid the proper groundwork. How she would do that, she didn’t know. But she would, given time to—