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The Courtship
Lynna Banning
Temporarily displaced Southern belle Jane Charlotte Davis was desperate to make enough money to return home. So when town banker Rydell Wilder, a Northerner through and through, offered her a loan to start her own business, she jumped at the chance. Even though the man was too handsome–and too interested in her–for her peace of mind.…Once, Rydell Wilder had been the new, poor boy in town. Now he had the wealth and the means to get whatever he wanted. And what he wanted more than anything was Jane. But did he have a prayer of turning their business deal into a marriage contract?
“This does not make sense, Mr. Wilder.
“It is to your advantage that I fail in this venture. Why in the world would you offer help?” asked Jane.
Rydell took a single step toward her and reached out. “Been askin’ myself that question all morning.”
“And what is your answer to that question?” Jane’s voice had steadied, but it dropped to a whisper.
“Damn—darned if I know,” he admitted. And before he knew what he was doing, he closed his fingers around her upper arm. She didn’t move, just looked at him. Unable to help himself, he pulled her toward him. And his mouth found hers.
Her lips were warm. He’d never known such excruciating sweetness. Instinctively he broke free. He didn’t think he could stop if he didn’t call a halt now.
“You’re right, this doesn’t make sense,” he breathed against her temple. “No sense at all.”
The Courtship
Harlequin Historical #613
Praise for Lynna Banning’s previous titles
The Law and Miss Hardisson
“…fresh and charming…a sweet and funny yet poignant story.”
—Romantic Times
Plum Creek Bride
“…pathos and humor blend in a plot that glows with perception and dignity.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Wildwood
“5
.”
—Heartland Critiques
Western Rose
“…warm, wonderful and witty—a winning combination from a bright new talent.”
—Award-winning author Theresa Michaels
#611 MY LADY’S PLEASURE
Julia Justiss
#612 THE DARK KNIGHT
Tori Phillips
#614 THE PERFECT WIFE
Mary Burton
The Courtship
Lynna Banning
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
Lynna Banning
Western Rose #310
Wildwood #374
Lost Acres Bride #437
Plum Creek Bride #474
The Law and Miss Hardisson #537
The Courtship #613
Dedication
For my mother, Mary Elizabeth Banning Yarnes
Acknowledgments
With grateful appreciation to Jean Louise Banning, Suzanne Barrett, David Woolston and my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins
Contents
Chapter One (#u549b12bd-04f8-5c78-8fd2-7a9b0957c0f2)
Chapter Two (#u2af1b593-2be6-5ddf-a675-3d96c10b190e)
Chapter Three (#u9b56da0d-0e3c-5cbb-834e-05c18acb379a)
Chapter Four (#u112f2d12-982d-555d-aa1e-c4526494e535)
Chapter Five (#u1fd32dc0-4107-542b-910b-f237c7408feb)
Chapter Six (#uc28e1afb-280f-5adc-a0ca-0af4177dee30)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Dixon Falls, Oregon
1874
“Jane Charlotte, don’t you dare step one foot out that door without straightenin’ your hat! Why, it looks just like a puffball that’s been knocked plumb off center.”
With a sigh, Jane poked one finger against the stiff straw creation she’d clapped on top of her dark hair and felt it shift an inch to the right.
“Now, pull your waist down and tuck it in nice, honey. Y’all can’t go traipsing into town looking like you’ve got no maid to tend you.”
Jane faced her mother, who was reclining on the worn green damask settee, an open copy of Tennyson clutched in her thin fingers. “We have no maid, remember, Mama? We left Odelia at Montclair with Aunt Carrie, and Juno ran off with that sharecropper in Dillon County after the War. We’re on our own out here.”
Her mother’s unblemished ivory forehead wrinkled. “Truth to tell, Ah don’t like to remember, but never you mind. Tuck in your waist, now, honey. And tell your father where you’re goin’ in such a fizz.”
Jane’s throat closed at the mention of her father. Papa was dead and buried in the orchard, and her chest ached every time she thought of it. Mama didn’t want to remember this, either—that they’d laid him to rest three days ago. Some days, Mama fancied herself back in Marion County, sitting on the porch in the shade of the tupelo tree, sipping lemonade.
“I won’t be gone long, Mama.” She bent to kiss the smooth, cool cheek and patted her mother’s hand. “You find a nice poem by Mr. Tennyson to read out loud after our supper, you hear?”
“You speak to your father before you leave, Jane Charlotte. Ah don’t know what he’ll say to your goin’ out unchaperoned….”
Jane bit her bottom lip. Papa’s dead, she wanted to scream. Don’t you understand? He’s gone! But such an outburst would serve no purpose; Mama would forget it within half a minute, and Jane’s throat would hurt for hours from screaming. Her mother refused to accept unpleasantness; she simply pretended it didn’t exist. Maybe she should thank the Lord her mother preferred the past; it kept her from being frightened of the present, and Jane was frightened enough for both of them.
She straightened her spine, smoothed down the folds of the dark blue sateen skirt she had made over from a ball gown of her mother’s, and moved to the front door. The paint around the lock plate was flaking off, revealing the bare wood beneath. It needed fixing.
Everything needed fixing—the house. Their lives. Even herself. It had been ten years since she’d first delved into her mother’s clothes trunk; how much longer could a few outdated ball gowns last? And the house—it had gone to wrack and ruin since her mother’s health began to fail.
“’Bye, Mama. I’ll be home in time to make your tea.”
“Jane Charlotte, tell your father…” The small, clear voice faded as Jane descended the porch steps.
Tell your father. She gritted her teeth. She’d like to tell him a thing or two, like to shout the truth at him: Papa, you dragged us away from everything we knew, everything we loved, and you didn’t take care of us, Mama and me, nor our property, and…and now you up and die and we’re practically starving!
Hush up, now! No well-bred Southern lady rails at a dead parent no matter what they’d done, leastways not in public. And certainly not among Yankees! She marched down the path to the front gate, groaning aloud at the sight of the weed-infested border of sunwithered Sweet William and the overgrown roses massed along the fence. Well, great heavens, she couldn’t keep up the cooking and the cleaning and the pruning and lovingly dribble wash water on the roots like Mama did before she took sick.
Oh, Papa, whatever am I to do? A sick, hard knot formed in her midsection. She didn’t feel like herself anymore. At that, she gave a choked laugh. Be truthful, Jane. For months and months, even before Papa died, she had felt like a fledgling sparrow who’d fallen out of its nest. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fly back in.
Well, fly you must, ready or no. She swung the gate shut, wincing at the screak of the rusty hinge—one more thing to attend to—and twitched her skirt free of the fencepost. It took all her willpower to steady her breathing. She felt for all the world like David girding himself to meet Goliath.
Only this was worse. She snapped open her mother’s best black silk parasol. At the bottom of their dusty, sun-baked hill lay the town, and there waited The Enemy. Goliath was a Yankee.
She straightened her hat and ordered her feet to carry her forward. I am sorry, Papa, but you left me no choice.
“She’s comin’, Dell! Miz Jane. Walkin’ up the street lookin’ jes’ like a queen.”
Rydell Wilder’s entire world spun to a stop. “You sure about that, Lefty?”
“Dad blame-it, my eyesight’s good as it ever was. Ever since you started this here bank ’stead of ridin’ shotgun for me, you never b’lieve one thing I say. I tell you it’s her.”
Rydell stood up and stared into the old man’s face. Lefty Springer was the only person in the entire world he’d ever confided in. He’d trust the man with his life if it came down to it; after all, Lefty had trusted him with thousands of dollars in payroll shipments from the time he turned sixteen.
