Wicked Temptations (8 page)

Trudy clasped her hands in delight. "When I distribute the leaflets I'll tell the women about the importance of voting. My father is the smartest and the most handsome of the candidates, so the women will certainly vote for him over the other candidates. "

Trudy's enthusiasm was contagious, and Priscilla found herself saying, "You're absolutely right about impressing on women the importance of voting. If they don't exercise their right, other states and territories who haven't yet given women the right to vote will see no reason to grant it, and our sisters all over the country will remain in bondage to their husbands, and to men's laws. As it stands, all over the country intelligent women are denied the right to vote, while ignorant, drunken and immoral men can cast their ballots. It is grossly unfair to women."

Trudy looked at Priscilla, fervor in her eyes, and said, "Do you have any literature on women's suffrage that I can read?"

"Yes, right over here." Priscilla lifted a stack of newspaper clippings of speeches given around the country by women fighting for the cause and handed them to Trudy. "If you read through these, you'll know how to address the women at the meeting when they ask you questions about voting. Always remember that knowledge is power."

Trudy took the clippings, an eager smile on her lips, and settled onto a tall stool at a table to began gleaning the articles.

That evening, as Priscilla sat at the dressing table brushing her hair while mulling over the day's events, it came to her that Trudy, with her youth, and her enthusiasm, and her beautiful young face might be enormously successful in persuading women to vote for her father. Then she saw her own face in the mirror, and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. Lady Whittington's well-meaning attempt to make a plain woman into something she was not, troubled her. Priscilla had thought she'd come to terms with her appearance.

Then Adam came along and made her wonder if she'd been too critical of herself over the years.... Until Lady Whittington pointed out the ugly truth.

She thought about Lady Whittington's misplaced pity. She didn't want anyone's commiseration. But from Lady Whittington's piteous looks while dining with her during the past week, she knew the woman was genuinely concerned, which Priscilla found aggravating and pointless. Maybe it was time to apply that defense
modus operandi
from her early years when she'd been teased mercilessly about her appearance by her schoolmates, until she'd announced to them that she was a descendant of Queen Elizabeth, and produced the color plate to prove it. Although they never really accepted her, they had at least let her be after that. So if it worked during her school days, there was no harm in applying it now, if only to give Lady Whittington something to ruminate about.
 
At least for a little while.

***

When Priscilla bathed and dressed for dinner, she had expected to dine alone with Lady Whittington. The children had eaten earlier and were busy with their studies, and the last she'd heard, Adam was to be at the ranch for the rest of the week. Instead, he had joined them shortly after she and Lady Whittington started eating, and Adam was sitting at the head of the table, staring at her intently, bafflement on his brow, a look that closely resembled his mother's questioning stare. The
modus operandi
had definitely taken a different turn than intended. Adam was not supposed to be there. But he was. And she knew precisely what he was thinking...

...she does not need the aid of infusions and dyes and all manner of female fripperies that
will make her look like a clown...

And in Adam's mind, she did look like a clown this particular evening.

She'd put a dusting of pure white powder on her face to lighten her skin, added ovals of blush along the ridges of her cheekbones to heighten them, darkened her lips with rouge, extended the outer corners of her eyes with Kohl to make her eyes appear more wide set, and left her brows and lashes blond and untouched. Lastly, she'd pulled her hair straight back to emphasize her high forehead, allowing a dusting of coppery-red curls to frame her face, then tucked pearls into the braid curving across the crown of her head. Although she'd tried to be subtle with her representation of the queen, from the looks she was receiving from Adam and his mother, she knew she had not been subtle enough.

Attempting to disregard the quizzical looks, she touched her napkin to her lips, and said, "It feels good to get cleaned up after a day of typesetting. But after handling all of the freshly-printed newspapers, I was not sure I could scrub the ink from my hands."

Lady Whittington, whose brows had gathered into a frown of concern, said to Priscilla, "I can see that would be a problem, especially with your very pale skin. Do you not protect your hands with gloves?"

Priscilla sighed. "I'm afraid gloves would make it impossible to pick up the tiny characters." She stretched out her fingers. "But I suppose I could protect them with oil."

"It would certainly make it easier for you to get those unsightly ink spots off your hands," Lady Whittington said.

Priscilla let out a nervous laugh. "Actually, they're not ink spots. They're freckles."

Lady Whittington raised her spectacles, which had been dangling from a chain fastened to her lapel, and brought them to her eyes. "Oh, my," she said, "they are indeed freckles. Perhaps we can find some way to make them fade."

Priscilla stretched out her hands and looked at them. "I'm quite used to having them," she said. "They have been with me for a very long time."

"Yes, that is unfortunate," Lady Whittington said in an empathetic tone. "But there are many fine products available now that were not obtainable back when you were a girl."

'Way back... thirty-nine years ago,'
Priscilla silently added. She looked at Lady Whittington, and said, "At my stage in life, I no longer worry so much."

"As we age," Lady Whittington said, "it is even more important to worry about our looks. Not that you are old yet, Miss Phipps." She tipped her head back to get a closer look through her spectacles. "But we all move ahead with time, and it does take its toll."

Adam gave his mother a sharp look. "Miss Phipps does not have to worry about aging for a long time." He turned to Priscilla. "Do you have plans after dinner, tonight?"

"Yes," Priscilla replied. "I plan to read. I'm interested in the Elizabethan period, and I have a book that I have not had time to peruse."

Lady Whittington touched her napkin to her lips. "Odd that you should mention the Elizabethan period," she said. "You have a certain look about you, rather reminiscent of Queen Elizabeth. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Priscilla fought an almost overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. She hadn't expected Lady Whittington to pick up on it so quickly. "Well yes," she replied. "I've been told that I'm a direct descendent of Henry VII through my father, though it couldn't be substantiated as the family Bible was lost in a fire. But my family called me Bess when I was growing up because I looked so much like the queen." That part was not a lie. She had a cameo to prove it.

Weldon, who was pushing a toy canon across the rug, commented, "Mr. Avery told us Queen Elizabeth had black teeth and was bald. He read it in a history book."

"Mr. Avery did not say she was bald,"
Alice
argued, from her stance in the doorway, "he said she wore a wig."

"She was bald!"

"She wore a wig!"

"Children!"
Lady Whittington snapped. She shot a glare at Weldon and said, "One cannot believe everything written in the history books. Now, both of you return to your rooms and prepare yourselves for bedtime."

After the children left, Lady Whittington set her fork on her plate, raised her spectacles to her eyes once more, studied Priscilla at length, and said, with newfound interest, "You do not need your family Bible to prove you are descended from the Tudors, Miss Phipps. You are clearly of that lineage." The woman all but bowed to Priscilla.

Adam looked at Priscilla in amusement, but said nothing. And Priscilla got the distinct impression that he'd seen through her ruse.

She had no time to dwell on that when Lady Whittington said, "
Elizabeth
was the greatest monarch
England
ever had. When she ascended the throne,
England
was an impoverished country torn apart by religious squabbles. But Bess was a dedicated queen who listened to the advice of those around her, and by the time she died,
England
was one of the most prosperous countries in the world."

Priscilla glanced at Adam, who tipped his wine glass toward her in a silent toast. Her face flushed, and she quickly averted her eyes. She really didn't want to expand on her trumped-up story. But before she could direct the conversation to the recent posting of
The Town Tattler
, Lady Whittington said, "I think it would be admirable if you'd go to the school and talk to the children about being a descendant of the Tudors."

"But that has not been established," Priscilla insisted.

"One only has to look at you to see that you are a direct descendant. I don't know why I didn't pick up on that when I first saw you."

Priscilla's lips twitched in a tentative smile. The last thing she wanted was to explain to a room full of school children, or anyone else, how she was descended from King Henry, when it all started with a color plate, and a wish to deceive a classroom of children into believing she was someone important. "I do not feel comfortable making any claim to the Tudors," she said, and hoped that would be the end of it.

"Then at least come to our Garden Club Tea next week and let the women take a look at you. It's really uncanny how much you look like the queen. You'd be my guest, and we would say nothing about your ancestry. But if someone were to bring it up, you could tell them what you told me," she said, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

"I really have nothing to wear," Priscilla said, to the woman, hoping to put an end to this nonsense and get on with her reason for coming to
Cheyenne
.

"What you are wearing will be fine," Lady Whittington insisted.

"Mother," Adam interjected. "I believe your Garden Club meeting is on Tuesdays, if I am not mistaken."

"Well, yes," Lady Whittington replied. "Why?"

"Because that's the day I promised to take Miss Phipps around
Cheyenne
and introduce her to some of the merchants in town," Adam said. "She wants to solicit advertisers for her newspaper, and I have arranged for her to meet several merchants."

Lady Whittington gave Adam a dark look. "Can that not wait?"

"It's very important to Miss Phipps to get advertisers," he explained, though Priscilla had no idea Adam had gone to the trouble of contacting merchants. She also wondered why he would do such a thing, without first consulting her.

Lady Whittington drew in a long breath. "Very well then," she said. She turned to Priscilla, and added, "But we will do the garden club another time."

Before Priscilla could respond, Adam said, "Miss Phipps, would you care to go for a buggy ride after dinner?"

Priscilla looked at Adam with a start. He was on to her, she was certain, and she did not feel like trying to explain to him either. Nor was it advisable to be alone with him in a buggy. She couldn't trust him, or herself. Definitely not herself. She shook her head. "I believe I'll retire to my room and read my book. But thank you for asking."

"Actually I had another reason for asking you," he said. "Mr. Jenkins at the drug store asked that I bring you over so he could talk to you about placing a rather large ad in your paper. He was talking about a quarter-page ad."

Priscilla stared at Adam. A quarter-page ad would pay for the next issue of paper and be an invitation for others to do the same. But in order to visit the druggist, she'd have to be alone with Adam in the buggy. The thought brought those odd feelings below her belly.

"Priscilla," Adam said. "This is important."

Lady Whittington glared at Adam. "Have you forgotten your manners?" she said. "You just addressed Miss Phipps by her given name."

"Priscilla and I have long since dispensed with the formalities, Mother," Adam said. "We are very good friends now, and that's the way it is." He turned to Priscilla. "I think we should leave. Mr. Jenkins is expecting me to bring you around in fifteen minutes, which is about how long it will take to get there." He turned to Lady Whittington. "If you'll excuse us, Mother."

"Well, I suppose, if the man is expecting you," Lady Whittington huffed. She turned to Priscilla and added, "but I do hope you'll join me at a later Garden Club tea, perhaps consider becoming a member. With your bloodline going back to the king, there would be no objections to having you in our group."

Priscilla gave her a cautious smile. "Perhaps at a later meeting." She dabbed her mouth, rested her napkin beside her plate, and allowed Adam to pull her chair out. But as she started across the room, with Adam close behind, Lady Whittington called out, "In the meantime, I'll check
Burke's Peerage
and see if I can locate the Phipp's family. They are certain to be listed. Then we can trace your bloodline."