Page 30 of Midnight Rider

Her father was obviously delighted at the number of monied and influential families who were enjoying his hospitality. He mingled, working so hard at trying to be one of them that his submissive attitude was almost comical. And it did seem to Bernadette as if the guests were only humoring him. They had nothing in common with him, something he didn’t seem to realize. He might have money, but his background, though an honest and hardworking one, was still common. These people were of a social class that had never known deprivation or hardship, coming from families with noble or wealthy lineage. They talked about golf and about estates in England and Scotland, about foreign dignitaries and friends with whom they often visited.

Colston Barron might own some railroads but all he could talk about was the building of them. He knew the subject well, because he’d started as a poor Irish laborer on the eastern leg of the Union Pacific, working along with both Northern and Southern veterans of the War Between the States for three dollars an hour. He’d been in his late twenties when one of the railroads had gone into receivership. Colston had persuaded two foreigners to invest in the venture with him, and he’d plunged everything he could hock and beg and borrow into the bankrupt railroad. With a natural ability to talk his way out of any crisis and coax work out of the laziest of laborers, he’d parlayed that investment into a fortune for his backers, and then he’d bought them out. In his middle fifties now, he was as wealthy as many of his guests.

Of course, none of his guests had worked their way to fortune by the sweat of their brow. And when he spoke of his climb up from the ranks, he made his guests uncomfortable. It was a reminder that they were descendents of men like Colston, men whose determination and steely strength had built empires. Like Rockefeller and Carnegie, he was an empire-builder with the sort of focused determination most of them lacked. And, more, he was a mirror, reflecting their own weaknesses and inadequacies. He might have rough edges, but he was unique. They were only facsimiles of the men who had carved fortunes from raw iron and coal and steel. Consequently, they congregated among themselves and smiled politely when he joined their circles, and tried to find some common ground on which to build a conversation. But there was little. Bernadette’s father seemed to realize it all at once, because he withdrew into himself and except for polite greetings as he passed his guests, he seemed very remote and unapproachable.

“He’s not happy,” Bernadette told Eduardo as they danced the last dance together, another graceful waltz that took her breath away.

“I know. He expects money to solve everything. It doesn’t.” He looked odd when he said that, and the glance he gave Bernadette was too complex to understand.

She didn’t know that he was feeling more guilty by the minute for marrying her, when what he most needed was a loan and not a wife. He could give her affection, certainly, and a grand passion. But underneath it, there was nothing. Hers would be a barren existence, wealthy and honored, but without true happiness. He wished he could love her. It seemed like cheating to marry her only for a loan, even if he had been honest about his feelings.

She saw his expression and smiled up at him. “There you go feeling guilty again,” she said with uncanny perception. “Will you stop worrying? I know what I’m doing, despite what you seem to think. I’m not asking for the stars, Eduardo. I’ll have independence and a roof over my head and a husband handsome enough to make other women green with jealousy.” She chuckled softly. “What more could I ask?”

“A lot, if you want the truth,” he replied quietly. “It bothers me, this bargain of ours.”

“It shouldn’t. I’m willing to settle for what you’ve offered me. You can’t let the ranch die. My father is your only hope of keeping it.” She stared at his shirtfront and decided that she might as well give him the option of backing out if he wanted to. “I think he might be willing to give you the loan without your having to marry me.”

He caught his breath. The scowl he bent down on her head was genuinely angry. “I would refuse any such offer,” he said curtly. “The bargain is that you marry me first. I have no intention of backing out of it. And neither,” he added firmly, “are you going to. It’s too late. You wear the family betrothal ring, and the bracelet. When I give my word, I keep it, Bernadette.”

“Yes, I know, but you were forced into this.”

“I was not. I could have gone to my grandmother. I could still go.”

“And sacrifice your pride,” she said irritably. “Go begging. I’d rather you starved.”

Her vehemence on his behalf amused him. His arm pulled her perceptibly closer. “Would you? And would you starve with me, my intended bride?”

“Of course,” she said with simple honesty. “That’s what marriage is supposed to be about.”

His face looked briefly drawn and solemn. “Consuela would have gone to her parents at once, rather than face such a comedown.”

She pinched his arm. “I’m not Conseula, nor am I likely to be,” she said. “Would you mind not comparing us? It’s uncomfortable.”

“Not half as uncomfortable as I would be should you become like her.”

She was remembering what he’d told her about the other woman in their moments of intimacy and she flushed uncomfortably.

He saw her expression and his was puzzled. “I should not have said such a thing to you. It was indecent. But I thought you should know the truth. It was hardly a love match, before or after. And no, I didn’t kill her.”

“I never thought you did. You need not have told me a second time.”

“Why do you always defend me?” he asked, his face hard and still. “You don’t really know me, Bernadette. There are dark places in my soul which are very seldom brought into the light. You may find it difficult to live with me.”

“I find it difficult to live with my father,” she reminded him. “You’ll be a picnic compared to my past life, however ungrateful that sounds.” She put her handkerchief to her mouth and coughed. The exercise of dancing was producing still more breathlessness and she was afraid she might have an attack.

“We’ll stop now,” he said gently, leading her off the dance floor. “You’ve done remarkably well tonight, considering the smell of all these heavy perfumes.” He frowned. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Certainly.” She coughed again. “I’ll have Maria bring me some coffee and I’ll sit quietly while the guests prepare to leave. Those who aren’t staying with us,” she qualified.

“I’ll see Maria. You sit here.” He eased her into a chair and walked off in the general direction of the kitchen.

* * *

THEGUESTSLEFTRATHERQUICKLY, all aglow with the latest news to carry back to their respective homes. Bernadette marrying a Spanish nobleman, and how exciting to have such a grand event held so near their homes!

Bernadette took the congratulations in her stride, but she noticed that her father was positively morose.

After the room had cleared of guests, Colston joined Bernadette and Eduardo in the parlor.

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