A Stubborn Painter’s Fake Courtship (Preview)

Chapter One

Dorada,Texas

Early September 1873

“Father is unlikely to return in time to take us to Jenny’s engagement celebration, Mother. You know that he never thinks of the time when he’s in town on business matters,” complained Adelaide. “The party began an hour ago!”

Adelaide Jefferson was in a foul temper. She was already late to Jenny Clemens’ engagement luncheon and if not for the fact that she and Jenny were best friends, Addy would not have gone at all.

But as she had to go, she would much rather have gone by herself, riding Pandora, the spirited black mare her father had just bought for her eighteenth birthday last month. Pandora was fast and fearless and would get Addy to the Clemens celebration much faster than would the dowdy old buckboard with Alamo in harness. “Mother,” she coaxed, “why don’t you stay here and wait for Father to return. I’ll ride on ahead.”

“Dearest,” her mother said as she smoothed a stray lock of Addy’s red hair. “We’ll go together. In the buckboard,” Matilda Jefferson added as if she had already discerned her daughter’s intentions. “You must arrive in the proper manner. There will be eligible young men at Jenny’s engagement luncheon and now that you’re eighteen, it’s time for you to begin thinking of your own wedding.”

Addy jerked her head away from her mother’s touch. “I am in no hurry to marry!” she declared. “All the young men in Dorada are deadly dull. They think of nothing but cattle and gambling. Not one of them knows anything about art, and I doubt very much if any of them has even heard of the Impressionists!”

Matilda Jefferson could not restrain a shudder. “Addy, dearest, please promise me you won’t even speak about painting with other people there. It’s simply not a proper subject for a woman, especially a young woman your age. Promise me, dearest. You want to attract the right sort of husband.”

“Mary Cassatt is a painter!” Addy exclaimed. She had no interest in searching for a husband among the young men of Dorada and was stubbornly determined to express her dedication to art to her mother. “She’s an American, and her work has been exhibited in Paris along with the most celebrated French artists.”

“Adelaide,” Matilda said in a tone of voice that was as much a plea as a warning, “I beg you, do not humiliate me by bringing up the immoral subject of foreign artists! Your father is intent upon seeing you well married and he will be distraught if your interest in painting becomes the talk of the town. It’s very well known, even here in Texas, that foreign artists paint women—I will not refer to them as ladies—who are not wearing any clothes!” Her mother uttered this last phrase in a whisper although they were alone in the parlor. “Painting will not be among the topics of conversation at today’s party. Nothing could ruin your chances of making a good marriage more than for your reputation to be sullied if our neighbors were to find out that you want to be one of those artists!”

“But Mother,” Addy protested, “why can’t I be who I am? Why must I be what all the other girls in Dorada are?”

“Because marriage is a serious business. Your father and I are respected in this town; we helped to found it and it is imperative that you, our only child, demonstrate the high standards that we value. Now,” Matilda placed a loving hand against her daughter’s freckled cheek, “you and I will ride the buckboard to the Clemens’ ranch so that you arrive looking presentable and poised. I can trust Alamo to maintain a sedate pace. If you object,” her mother began, seeing a familiar expression of obstinance on her daughter’s face, “we shall be forced to wait until your father returns to drive us.”

“It could be hours before Father returns from town!”

“Then you and I shall go now so that you do not miss the festivities and disappoint Jenny,” was her mother’s placid reply. “Your father will come on his own when he returns home and sees that we have left.”

Her mother’s patience was exacting in its own way, and Addy had no choice but to submit. Addy was somewhat mollified when her mother permitted her to drive the buckboard. Not, Addy fumed rebelliously, that there was any real equestrian skill required to handle the reins for Alamo who, despite his historic name, distinctly lacked a rallying nature. As they rode, Matilda chatted in her usual fashion about the wildflowers growing in the fields and the luncheon she planned to serve as hostess later that month for the meeting of the Dorada Garden Club.

“Dearest,” she said just as the buckboard crested the hill that led to the Clemens’ ranch, “the new tea set I ordered from Philadelphia should have arrived at the general store by now. Won’t you take the wagon into town tomorrow and see that they’ve all arrived without any damage?”

Addy wasn’t planning on a trip to town tomorrow. She wanted to take advantage of the daylight and paint outside. A landscape, in the impressionist style. She had been laying the setting out in her mind ever since the first signs of autumn had begun to appear. “I won’t know if the tea set is exactly what you ordered,” she protested. “You know that I pay no attention to such things.”

“You can tell if a cup has a chip in it,” her mother said in that deceptively mild voice which had steel underpinning it. “I have to meet with the Church Ladies Auxiliary so that we can plan our Christmas charity for the poor.”

Addy was framing an answer as she turned the buckboard through the open gates of the Clemens’ ranch when a horse and rider drew near. The horse tossed its black mane in what seemed to Addy to be a derisive manner.

Not surprising, she thought acidly as the rider pulled up the horse so that he would be closer to the buckboard.

Giles Madison raised his hat in greeting, his curly brown hair visible briefly before the hat returned to the top of his head. “Mrs. Jefferson,” he said politely. “And Miss Jefferson.” The corners of his mouth turned inward with a slight smile that looked as if it would take very little to evolve into a grin.

“Mr. Madison,” Addy said with frosty hauteur.

“Ladies,” Giles said as he dismounted with the long-legged dexterity of a man who knew his mount perfectly and was precisely aware of his movements. “Allow me to tend to your horse and buckboard so that you don’t muss your dresses. No one is likely to notice my clothes, but you ladies always have an eye out for one another’s frocks, don’t you?”

“There is no need—”

“Thank you, Giles,” Mrs. Jefferson smoothly overrode her daughter’s ungracious decline. “We are already late and of course Adelaide is most eager to join the others.”

Giles looked at Addy’s glowering expression. “Yes,” he said smoothly, his lips pressed together as if he could barely keep a grin from escaping, “I can see how eager she is.” His dark eyes did not conceal his amusement.

“Miss Jefferson?” he held out his hand to assist her from the buckboard.

“You may help my mother,” Adelaide told him. “I am capable of getting out on my own.”

“I have no doubt that you are,” he conceded. “But a Texas man has a reputation to maintain whether courtesy to the ladies is concerned. I’ll assist you first. I know your mother is a lady who will wait.”

Addy was ready to erupt at the implied insult that she was not a lady and likely would have done so had not her mother placed a chastening hand upon her wrist. “Dearest, please allow Giles to help you so that we may go inside. We are already unpardonably tardy.”

“So is he,” Adelaide muttered as Giles’ hands held her waist, lifting her out of the buckboard and then down to the ground with the same seamless grace that he had displayed when dismounting from his horse

Encountering Giles Madison as soon as they arrived was scarcely calculated to put Addy in a better mood and she was muttering under her breath as she and her mother crossed the smooth packed gravel pathway that led to the house.

“Mrs. Clemens has always had a way with her begonias,” Mrs. Jefferson said enviously as she bent down to touch the delicate petals of the nearest plant. “Quite like silk. I admit I am rather vain of my own garden, but when I see Mrs. Clemens’ flowers, I feel quite outdone. She never does tell us at our meetings how she manages such perfection. Dearest,” her mother went on as they climbed the wide porch stairs to the veranda where an overflow of guests had begun to gather, “do not be so curt with Giles Madison. He is a very promising bachelor you know, and your father says he has done admirably with the family fortune. Not only cattle, but mining and railroads as well. Your father says that diversifying is very smart, especially with that unpleasant business in New York and Mr. Cooke.”

Adelaide had no idea what her mother was talking about. Matilda Jefferson was a most bewildering mix of domestic matron and maternal huntress for her daughter’s matrimonial opportunities, and Addy rarely knew quite how to counter her mother’s zeal. Mother, talking of begonias one minute, and diversifying the next!

Jenny, spotting Addy immediately, left the circle of young ladies clustered around her to go to her friend. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Jefferson,” she said, greeting Addy’s mother first, as was proper. “Ma will be glad that you’ve arrived.”

“Mr. Jefferson has been delayed in town, I’m afraid,” Matilda apologized. “I’m sure you girls have much to talk about. Weddings are so exciting!” After a gentle but admonitory squeeze of her daughter’s arm, Matilda excused herself and left the two.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, Addy,” Jenny said. “But I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

“No,” Addy acknowledged. She would never do such a thing to her dearest friend, despite her dislike for engagement celebrations which seemed to ignite her mother’s zeal to see Addy married. “Where’s Hank?”

“He saw Giles coming through the gate just after you and your mother. I expect he’s at the stable now, finding respite from all the feminine wedding talk. I don’t think men take as much pleasure in wedding plans as women do.” Then she laughed. “Except for you, of course.”

“I’m sorry to be so vexed,” Addy apologized. “You know I’m delighted that you and Hank are getting married. You’re ideal for one another. But Mother is forever on about me getting married and it becomes quite tiresome. I declare that I no sooner began putting my hair up than she was planning my wedding luncheon. Then of course, Giles appearing and doing his very best to be charming to my mother and irritating to me only makes me more cross.”

Jenny laughed. “I could see the red in your cheeks from across the veranda,” she said, “and I knew something had happened to set a fire beneath your freckles.”

“Father always says that my skin competes with my hair color when I’m out of sorts,” Addy told her. “He’s so busy these days in town with business. We waited as long as we could and of course, Mother would not let me come by myself.”

“No other mother would, either,” Jenny said. She linked arms with her friend. “Come and join the others. I think my engagement has set off a competition. At least three of our female friends are flirting with our gentlemen friends.”

“Why?” Addy asked curiously. Some of their mutual friends had already paired off in what was assumed to be a preliminary start to an engagement, and while no announcements had appeared recently in the weekly newspaper, families already knew which of the local sons was courting the Dorada belles.

“Oh, they want to make their beaux jealous, so they propose sooner rather than risk losing a sweetheart to a rival. But you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I haven’t even given Hank a hint of what our engagement has stirred up among our friends. He’d be sure to let it slip without meaning to. Men,” she said with the proprietary air of a newly engaged woman, “simply don’t perceive the subtleties between the sexes.”

Jenny lowered her voice. “Your mother is coming back for you.”

“Dearest,” Matilda Jefferson swept back into her daughter’s orbit, the layers of her light green organza dress swaying with her movements. “Please come with me. Nelson Taylor is just back from Austin, where he called upon the governor. His mother says he’s likely to get a position in the capital and of course you want to congratulate him on his success. Jenny, you’ll excuse us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jenny said as she bestowed a sympathetic glance upon her friend.

Matilda Jefferson kept a secure gloved handclasp on her daughter’s arm as they passed the clusters of people on the veranda. “Walk quickly by Kenyon Starr,” her mother directed her, smiling and nodding all the while with such practiced grace that no one could have guessed she was deliberately snubbing the handsome son of the gaming house owner. “I cannot believe that Mrs. Clemens invited him,” she murmured. “Your father speaks of him often and I don’t approve at all. I cannot conceive of how their paths even cross. Do not look at him. He is looking at you with a most ungentlemanly stare. Do not look.”

Addy had no intention of doing so, even though her father was incessantly encouraging her to be more tolerant of the young man, despite his wife’s disapproval. Kenyon Starr was certainly handsome enough, and he had his own sort of charm, but he also had a reputation. Whether deserved or not, Addy didn’t know. There was a lot that young unmarried women did not know about the town’s eligible bachelors. His father owned a gaming house and as far as Mrs. Jefferson was concerned, he was not fit to marry into the family.

“Nelson, dear,” Matilda purred as she and Addy approached the circle of guests by the punch bowl where the Taylor’s eldest son was talking about his trip to Austin. “Addy simply insisted that I bring her over so that she could hear all about Austin and your visit.”

Addy wished she had brought her fan with her, for she could feel the crimson rising in her cheeks, building beneath her freckles like lava ready to erupt. She composed her features into an expression of what she supposed would pass as interest and prepared to be thoroughly bored for the duration of Nelson’s address to his audience of unmarried young women and their mothers.

Chapter Two

Giles shook his head at the offer made by one of the Clemens’ hired hands. “I’ll tend to the horses,” he told the man.

The cowboy looked surprised. “You’ll get horsehair on those fine duds,” he said. “Mrs. Clemens, she set us to tend to the guests’ horses and carriages and such.”

“Quite all right,” Giles assured the man. “I promised Mrs. Jefferson that I would see to her horse, and I prefer to tend to Delilah myself.”

“If you say so,” the cowboy said. “I’ll just be over yonder by the barn if you need anything.”

“I won’t need anything.” With any luck, Giles could dedicate the next hour to grooming the two horses and miss at least that much of the engagement party.

“I might have known you’d find a way to dodge the party,” Hank Sterling appeared in the stable, a good-natured grin on his face. “What are you doing with the Jeffersons’ horse?”

“I promised Mrs. Jefferson that I would tend to him.”

“And what did Addy say to that?”

“She didn’t have a chance to say anything of note. Her mother spoke for her.” Giles grinned. The exchange with Addy was the only lively encounter likely to come from the afternoon fete. He always enjoyed baiting her and she never failed to rise to the occasion.

“I might have known,” Hank said again. “You resist marriage like a wild mustang resists a bridle. I don’t know why you take against marriage so.”

“You may be enchanted by the idea of shackling a ball and chain around your ankles,” Giles retorted, “but I prefer my freedom.”

“Your Pa don’t prefer it,” Hank reminded him. He took up a brush and began to apply it to Giles’ horse.

Giles was well aware of his father’s views on marriage. A day did not go by without a reminder from William Madison, sometimes subtle, sometimes quite blunt, that he intended to see his only son and heir married before he died. The fact that his father was indeed ill, and his talk of death was more than a threat added to Giles’ guilt. But not his obedience. “Now that you’re hooked,” he said to his friend who was giving Delilah a very thorough brushing in the next stall, “that’s one less man for the mothers to pin their hopes on.”

“I love Jenny,” Hank said simply. “You’ll find someone to love. You ought to go inside and pay more attention to the ladies.”

“I’ve paid attention to everyone on other occasions. I grew up in Dorada, just like you did. There’s no one here I want to marry, and I don’t have the time anyway.”

“You could spare a minute from adding to the Madison millions,” Hank joked, “and court a girl. Come on now, finish up here and come with me. Ma’s here somewhere and she asked me where you are.”

“It’s not your mother I’m trying to avoid.”

Giles was trying to avoid the boredom that inevitably accompanied gatherings like this, where the young belles in their prettiest dresses did their utmost, with coy glances and artful manipulation of satin hand fans, to attract attention. To give Addy Jefferson her due, Giles thought, grinning to himself as he recalled the fun of watching her complexion turn red beneath the carpeting of freckles as she silently raged at him, she never simpered. With Addy, a fellow always knew exactly what she thought. And when it was a matter of what she thought of him, Giles chuckled to himself, there was no hiding her feelings.

The war of words and manners with Adelaide Jefferson would be the only diversion of the day, Giles knew.

“Come on,” Hank coaxed. “Make your father happy. Tell him that Sally Thornton looked quite fetching in her new bonnet.”

“What business have you to be noticing Sally Thornton’s bonnet?”

“I didn’t notice it. But that’s what Jenny told me. I’m just passing it along in case you run dry when it’s time to give compliments.”

Giles put the brush away and began to slap at his trousers to remove the hair that stuck to the fabric. “I’m not giving out compliments,” he warned as he gave Addy’s horse a farewell pat and walked out of the stable with Hank. “One compliment to a girl in Dorada and a man will find himself tethered to her at the altar like a broken horse.”

His expectations were met as the two men walked up the steps to the veranda. Hank was happy to be ignored, now that his engaged status took him off the marriage market. Giles knew that he was a target for the mothers. Mothers, it seemed, preferred wealthy sons-in-law. The Madisons were rich. Maybe the richest ranchers in town. Adding to the wealth was part of the challenge that Giles enjoyed the most. The money itself didn’t mean that much. He and his father lived comfortably, but not extravagantly.

Not like the Starrs, who flouted the money they made from their gambling hall.  Kenyon Starr, the center of attention of a trio of girls who tittered shrilly at his witticisms, nodded politely as Giles passed, but offered no greeting. The two men were not enemies. But they were not friends, and it was not because Giles was a snob or because he disapproved of the Starrs’ livelihood. He went to the gambling house himself for entertainment. But he always limited his betting and if he was not winning, he left and went home.

Kenyon had jeered at him once for lacking a proper spirit of adventure. Giles had suggested that they go outside and solve the matter of that spirit of adventure in a more appropriate fashion. Kenyon was no weakling and he, like Giles, could hold his own with his fists, but he had not taken up the offer. It remained between the two men like a gauntlet thrown down. Whether it would be picked up in the future, no one could say.

What Giles could say for certain, as he made his obligatory greetings to his hostess and endured the equally obligatory round of stops at each circle of gathered guests, was that when he went home, his father would ask if he had enjoyed himself. Then he would ask if any of the young ladies had been particularly attractive. Then, frustrated by his son’s lack of interest in tying himself down to a wife, William Madison would once again threaten to disinherit Giles if he did not soon choose a wife and marry.

It was not a threat that caused Giles great discomfort. He was the only son his father had. To whom else could he leave the ranch, the stocks, the holdings?

At the age of twenty-five, Giles Madison relished his work and his freedom. Marriage would take the latter away and leave boredom in its place.

As he passed Mrs. Jefferson, he noticed that she was holding onto Addy’s elbow as if she feared that her daughter might otherwise try to escape from Nelson Taylor’s account of his trip to Austin to meet with the governor. To Giles’ mind, Nelson might as well work in an office. He sat a horse like a bag of barley coming loose at both ends and he had never once gone on a cattle drive although his father was a rancher.

Giles grinned at the sight of Addy Jefferson hitched up to a conversation that plainly did not interest her. Addy saw him grin and immediately, the red color rushed into her face so fast that it looked like a fuse lighting beneath her freckles. He raised his eyebrows, not hiding his amusement, just for the pleasure of knowing that no matter the circumstances, Adelaide Jefferson’s eyes would turn into bolts of blue lightning when she was annoyed.

Hank must have seen the reaction, because he said, “Come on, Giles. Jenny will want to see you and show off the ring I bought her.”

Giles gave Addy a bow that had just enough mockery in it to further ignite her ire, nodded pleasantly to her mother, and continued his way. He guessed that it was Mrs. Jefferson’s idea for Addy to pay court to Nelson Taylor and his Austin saga. Addy was not one of the girls so eager to marry that she’d pretend to be enthralled by a bore like Taylor.

One day, she might find a man bold enough to marry her and live his life on the top of the volcano of her expressive emotions. In the meantime, she was another of the Dorada maidens, paraded by their mothers in front of the unmarried men for the purpose of marriage.

***

“Giles Madison, you have been hiding yourself all this while!”

Giles instilled the polite smile of a Texas gentleman on his face as he turned around to see Sally Thornton, her ringlets springing forth like golden coils beneath the imposing blue plumes of her bonnet.

“Not at all, Miss Thornton,” he said. “I arrived late.” Not late enough, a voice inside his head reminded him.

“What do you think of my bonnet?” she asked, turning around so that he could behold its glory from all angles.

“Very fetching,” he answered, Hank’s description coming quickly to mind.

“It’s from New York,” she told him. “Mama had it ordered specially for me. She says blue goes best with my eyes. What do you think?’

“I think you must have blue eyes,” he deduced, never having noticed the color of her eyes before.

She gave him an exasperated look, quickly masked. “Really, Mr. Madison,” she chided him. “Is that the best you can do?”

“It’s only that the brim of your hat—” he gestured toward her forehead, noting that her headgear appeared to have been designed for the prow of a ship rather than a woman’s forehead. “It’s rather prominent and it hides your eyes, to tell the truth.”

Then out of the corner his eye he saw a horse moving at a swift pace out of the ranch gates. It was Addy Jefferson. She was not riding the horse that had brought her and her mother to the party. Her mother was not with her. She was clearly in command of the horse while at the same time exhibiting an equestrian posture that showed her to advantage. Perhaps the fact that her hat was so simple and did not have a brim that could have graced a cruise liner was of some benefit.

He saw Jenny Clemens crossing the gravel pathway from the stable, her gaze attentive as her friend disappeared on the road.

It looked to Giles as if Addy had managed to make her escape from the tedious engagement affair, and with the assistance of her friend, the bride-to-be.

“Mr. Madison!” Sally Thornton called out his name. “You are not paying attention! You were discussing my eyes and my hat.”

“I was?  Oh, yes, very fetching hat you have there. I believe I’m going to get another glass of punch. Shall I bring you one?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. We’ve been talking so much that I’m quite parched. I shall be right here waiting for you,” she smiled.

His respite would be momentary for now he was obliged to bring her a glass of punch and prolong a meaningless conversation.

How had Addy managed her escape, he wondered as he neared the punch bowl.  If only Hank was as accommodating a friend as Jenny Clemens, Giles would not be ensnared in the prospect of a prolonged discussion concerning Sally Thornton’s bonnet.

Chapter Three

As she raced Jenny’s horse down the road, Addy felt the headache incurred by Nelson Taylor’s long-winded account of his visit to the governor begin to dissipate. The air was fresh, the sun was mellow and warm on her back. She pushed away the thoughts of how irate her mother would be when Jenny explained to her that Addy had decided to leave because she felt ill.  Her mother wouldn’t be able to berate her later for her sudden absence because Jenny would make it clear that she was not affronted by Addy’s departure.

Mother would not be happy, but then, Mother hadn’t been subjected to the entirety of Nelson’s monotonous monologue. Addy decided that it would be worth braving her mother’s annoyance and inevitable lecture if she could just return home and retreat to her easel and paint upstairs. In the studio, her cherished room where the sun came in through the windows at just the right angle, where she could lose herself in the canvas. Then, perhaps she would be able to forget the numbing drone of Nelson’s voice and the utter dullness of his account.

It was all well for Mother, Addy thought crossly as she handed the reins of the horse she’d borrowed from the Clemens’ stable to one of the hired hands who appeared at her return home. Mother was perfectly happy in her marriage to Robert Jefferson. Mother had the garden club and the church auxiliary and her flowers. She was entirely content with her life. But that did not give Mother the right, Addy told herself as she entered the spacious ranch house and went upstairs to the room she called her studio, to believe that Addy could fit into the same mold.

Once in her studio, with the late afternoon light still filling the room, Addy donned the stained white smock that she wore when painting. It covered her from her neck to her shins and was completely shapeless. Addy loved her smock more than any dress she had ever owned, because when she wore it, she knew that other artists in the faraway capitals of Europe were attired in the very same manner. However remote they might be from the American West, they were her artistic kin.

The odors of the studio were a fragrance that instantly soothed her in the same manner that lavender water applied to the temples eased her mother’s headaches.  Addy walked over to the far wall, studying the different canvases in various stages of development, and was immediately calmed by the pleasure she took in the images, even the ones that were newly started.

There was the portrait of her mother which Addy planned to give Matilda Jefferson for Christmas. It was to be a surprise, so she could not ask her mother to pose for her. Addy decided to work on the portrait. It was her way of atoning to her mother for fleeing from the engagement party, although she would not admit that to herself or to her mother.