Risk of Ruin

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  After a dozen or more visits, watching Tobias grow weaker upon the divan in the studio, Peter had suggested they attend the Regatta. As part of the great family, Peter was permitted in the Royal Enclosure, and no one else in the family would attend. There were few of them in London these days, and those who were led busy lives of their own.

  “Does your family attend the Regatta?” Peter asked Tobias.

  “A Season event?” Tobias asked, sounding amused. “My father would rather muck it with the pigs than society toffs.”

  “Then there is no chance of running into them. Come with me as my guest. My cousin Cian will let me use his carriage for the day, and the Williams family crest will get us close to the enclosure. You won’t have to walk far at all.”

  Tobias looked doubtful.

  “Think about it,” Peter said, and changed the subject.

  When Peter got up to return to his hotel room, Tobias said, “I will come to the Regatta, I believe. I am feeling stronger, these days.”

  Pleased, Peter nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  The day had been a success, in Peter’s estimation. Only now he was faced with a dilemma of divided loyalties. He could not urge Tobias to do what he must to save himself, for it would give Peter what he wanted.

  Tobias seemed to sense Peter’s quandary, for he lifted a black brow, looking amused. “You are supposed to urge me to cast aside any worldly considerations such as love and do only what will benefit me.”

  “You know I cannot suggest that,” Peter said, his voice low. “Even if I do think you should.”

  “I know.” Tobias sipped his brandy, while a pair of swans drifted along the stretch of the river and around the bend.

  “I worry about Lisa,” Tobias said. “About what will happen to her afterward.”

  Peter sat up abruptly. He waved a waiter over and pointed at his glass.

  The waiter added another inch of brandy, bowed and left.

  Tobias’ smile as he waited for the waiter to leave was knowing.

  Peter drank deeply, while sorting out his answer. “Annalies has been gone for weeks, painting her way to a small fortune. I don’t think you must worry about her at all.”

  “Nevertheless, I do. She is an artist in the truest sense of the word, Peter. Yes, she is successful now. Only, if someone does not watch over her, she will retreat into her work and lose sight of worldly matters.”

  Peter shook his head. “You never met her father. Or her step-father. That could not happen when—” He realized where his words were taking him and closed his jaw.

  “It could not happen if her step-father was fully aware of her affairs,” Tobias finished. “Instead, her true life has been hidden from her family because of me.” He gave a small shrug. “And I have not helped her.”

  Peter gripped his glass, his fingers digging in. “You introduced her to the art world and brought her fully into that world. No one else could have done it. Even I could not.”

  “My assertion stands,” Tobias said. “It helps, knowing you will be there, Peter. Afterwards.”

  Peter shook his head. “That is entirely up to Annalies. If you think she will move on the moment you are gone, then you do not know her at all.”

  Tobias’ smile was wise. “Nevertheless, you are as bound to her as I. You will be there because you cannot help yourself.” He put his empty glass aside. “We should return to the city. Mrs. Thistlethwaite is preparing roast beef with Yorkshire pudding tonight.”

  Peter couldn’t move. Tobias took a dozen steps toward the enclosure gate before turning to find him. “It is entirely possible Annalies has returned to London today. She may be home and waiting, already.”

  Peter cursed and got to his feet, resenting that Tobias knew exactly what would prod him into moving.

  Maybe that was why he liked the man.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The York commission was a single landscape—capturing the family’s new country manor upon canvas. Annalies estimated it would take two weeks of steady work to complete the picture. When she was not immersed in the work, she seethed with impatience.

  She wanted to go home, with a degree of longing which colored all her thoughts. When she was home in her studio, she could think.

  Only, when she was in her studio, she didn’t think about anything but the canvas before her. So why did she want to go home so desperately? It had been weeks and weeks since she had left London, which might be one reason. Only, they had been weeks filled with painting, and with new thoughts about commerce and business and finding new commissions. There were so many new ideas for her to consider and sort out, and to decide how to use them to further her work.

  Returning to her studio to work would disrupt the new ideas. It would force her to put them aside in favor of the old ways of thinking.

  Was that why she wanted to return? Was she so lacking in courage, she wanted to retreat to the safety of the familiar?

  Finally, Annalies stepped upon the train for London and settled in her compartment, the question still unanswered. She would be alone with her thoughts for several hours, with no easel and no distractions to save her.

  The farther south the train carried her, the more unsettled she became. What was wrong with her? She drummed upon the little shelf where her teacup lodged.

  Through the window, far ahead of the train, Annalies spotted a church spire, over the tops of the trees edging the railway line. It soared above the fields and the houses huddled around it, visible for miles.

  Her heart jolted, for she knew the spire. It was Farleigh.

  With no further thought, Annalies shot to her feet and pulled the compartment door aside and looked along the narrow corridor. “Conductor! Conductor!”

  A man in the rail company’s livery and cap hurried down the corridor to her door. “Yes, my lady?” He had a bushy beard and side chops, and a wrinkled brow.

  “I must get off the train at Farleigh. It is quite urgent. Can the train be stopped?”

  The man’s brow bunched. He looked as though he was about to protest. An unofficial stop would put the train in danger of being late, which was unforgiveable for the modern train companies, and for the passengers who relied upon them.

  “Please,” Annalies added. “It is very important.”

  He relented and nodded. “I will see what I can do.” He hurried toward the front of the train.

  Annalies knew he had succeeded when the train slowed as it approached the Farleigh station platform. She reached for her luggage, except for the trunk, which the porter must lift down for her.

  The station platform had changed since the last time she visited Farleigh. There was a high roof over the center portion of it, now, to hold the rain off waiting passengers’ heads. A large notice board, smelling of fresh paint, had been hung off the support pillar. There were already notices upon the board, announcing a church fete, and a new charabanc service to Cambridge on market days.

  As Annalies stood beside her trunk and bags, admiring the new additions, a cab came along the road leading to the station, and pulled up. The driver lifted his hat. It was the new cab she had patronized on her last visit.

  He swung down from his bench and moved over to her. “I wasn’t expecting a train for another twenty minutes,” he said, doffing his cap. “To Farleigh Manor, my lady?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Her heart worked heavily for the entire journey. Annalies leaned toward the window to watch the view ahead of the horse’s nose. The summer had been good for the farmers, here. The crops were high and green, ripening nicely. The cattle she spotted were well-fatted and healthy. One of her clients, while posing for his portrait, had spent the time explaining to her the intricacies of raising good quality cattle as cheaply as possible to take advantage of the increasing demand for properly butchered meat in the cities. “It’s a whole new world, my lady,” he explained. “It’s no longer good enough to sell an entire carcass and let the average man butcher it at home. He hasn’
t the room and no idea how to go about it himself. No, food production will be one of the biggest industries in the coming generation. You’ll see.”

  Annalies had barely paid attention to the man. Her focus had been upon the brush in her hands. The information had seeped in, anyway. Now she recalled it with some surprise, as she recognized the quality of the cattle in the field.

  As they crested the hill before the Farleigh river, Annalies’ breath caught, for now she could see the new manor rising among the trees.

  It was a magnificent building. A stately one. It was not the largest manor she had seen, for in the last few weeks she had stayed in some of the largest country houses in England. It was a beautiful building, though, made of the soft tan-colored local masonry, with darker stonework around the windows. There were many tall windows, which would encourage light inside.

  The entrance to the new manor was reached via a split staircase running left and right, then turning to climb to a large balcony in front of the door.

  There were workmen on the roof of the house, and more working on the ground around the house itself.

  The old gravel driveway had been widened and re-laid. Beyond the drive, many more men were digging in the earth with shovels and picks. Barrows and carts peppered the surrounding land.

  As the cab drew closer, Annalies heard the sounds of industry, echoing across the narrow river.

  The old stone bridge was gone. The road, instead of curving around the slope down to the river, instead drove straight ahead. There was a new stone bridge, taller, longer and wider, which spanned the river at a higher level, with graceful arch supports beneath it. The road barely dipped down to meet the bridge, now. The carriage wheels hissed across the bridge. The stone was still white and unweathered.

  After the bridge, the road curved around toward the house. Trees had been felled to make way for the new road, which was why the house was visible from the crest.

  A shout went up as the coach rattled around to the split stairs and came to a halt. Annalies couldn’t make out the words in the shout for the thudding in her temples.

  She climbed to the ground. The driver jumped from his bench, rather than make her stretch up to pay him. As she placed the coins on his hand, she looked up at the balcony railing.

  Peter stood there, peering down at her, his big hands on the new railing.

  Her heart squeezed and hurried.

  While the driver wrestled with her trunk and bags, Annalies climbed the steps. The front edges were still sharp, the mortar between the stones still white. She could tell that even weathered, the stonework would be sound. It would last for generations.

  Peter met her at the top of the stairs.

  “I don’t know why I am here,” Annalies admitted, letting the skirt of her traveling suit drop back into place.

  “I don’t know how you are here,” Peter replied. “No trains halt at Farleigh until after the hour.”

  “I made the train stop for me,” Annalies admitted. Her gaze roamed over him, taking in his shirt sleeves, rolled up to show tanned arms, corded with muscle. His hair was thick and tousled. His boots were covered in fine white powder. Peter had been working inside, she guessed.

  At her confession, Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course, you stopped the train.”

  Annalies met his gaze. She didn’t look away, even as his eyes narrowed in speculation. “Show me the house, Peter.”

  He stepped aside and waved toward the open half of the double door at the front.

  Annalies moved inside and caught her breath once more. The front hall extended all the way through the house, to more doors at the back. It also rose through all the levels of the house. The ceiling was curved and chambered, divided with plaster wreaths and flourishes.

  The windows on all the levels spilled light into the hall, illuminating the stairs.

  There was no sweeping, oddly shaped curve to them. They were split, as the stairs at the front of the house were split, and ran straight up to the next floor. The flight on the left started at the front of the house, while the flight on the right started at the back of the house. Black, delicately shaped and intertwined wrought-iron railings and balustrades gave them contrasting lines.

  The walls were white and pristine, too, with the same plaster shapes marking the divisions of panels. The floor of the hall was white tiles laid on the diagonal, divided by narrower black tiles.

  The effect was of a bright, warm place. If pictures were hung in the center of each wall panel, then the hall would feel even more welcoming. The light was so good and the air so warm, that pot plants in the corners would thrive here. She could so easily see a pair of tall palms in each corner, reaching toward the roof.

  Peter shut the door behind her. “There is no butler, yet,” he said, sounding apologetic. “This way.” He brushed past her, heading for the large room she could see beyond the stairs. A drawing room, she suspected.

  Annalies caught Peter’s hand as he passed by. It halted him. For a moment he held still, his hand in hers.

  Then he whirled back and gathered her in his arms and carried her back, until she was pressed against the door. He kissed her hungrily, his heavy body holding her still, supporting her.

  Was this why she had come?

  The thought evaporated under the heat Peter’s mouth and hands were generating. Longing was a fire, burning her nerves and stealing her breath.

  Annalies felt Peter’s hot skin beneath her lips and realized she had pushed aside his shirt. Her hands smoothed over his flesh. Her lips followed.

  He lifted her skirts, then lifted her and she realized he intended to take her right now. Here.

  Thrilling pleasure flared in her middle, deep down. Annalies clung to him as he pushed himself between her legs. His dark eyes were nearly closed, his expression driven as his shaft thrust into her in a hard, deep motion.

  She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the pleasure. It had been too long since the last time. She was a dandelion at the end of summer, ready to tremble and burst into weightless fragments at the mildest touch of a breeze. Her pleasure built far too quickly.

  Her climax shattered her just as she had suspected it would. Peter muffled her scream with his mouth, breathing in her silvered delight. He groaned as he reached his own peak and grew still, breathing hard.

  Annalies trembled, with deeper ripples passing through her like waves. Her breath was shallow. Panting.

  Peter took her face in his hands and kissed her, slow and deep. Then he lowered her to the ground. “Let me show you something.” He picked up her hand and drew her down the hall, toward the back of it.

  The big doors there were the same width as the front doors, and just as tall. Peter opened them both and pulled them aside.

  Annalies gasped, for the doors did not open on to the outside, as she had suspected. “A conservatory,” she breathed, stepping into the middle of the doorway.

  It was not a simple conservatory, at all. The iron and glass framed structure rose to the level of the next floor’s windows and ran across the entire width of the house. There was a door on the opposite side from where Annalies stood, with a dark green frame. That door would lead outside.

  The conservatory was at least forty feet across. It was a huge structure, one of the largest she had ever seen, and certainly larger than any house in London possessed, even the renowned conservatory the Gainford family had built in their town house in Belgravia.

  It was empty, except for six tubs with flowering shrubs in them, sitting against the western wall. They were not arranged at all—they remained where the carters had likely left them and would be put in their final places later.

  “Roses…” she breathed.

  Peter picked up her hand and kissed it.

  THEY TOOK TEA RIGHT BESIDE the roses. Peter carried a basket from the old grounds man’s house, where he was still living, and spread a blanket for her to sit upon.

  Through the glass, they could hear the laborers working outside the h
ouse and on it.

  “The interior is nearly finished, except for the decorating and furnishing. I want my father to see the house before then,” Peter said. He wolfed down most of his slice of lemon cream cake.

  “It is truly a wonderful house, even before all the furniture and decorating.” Annalies’ voice echoed flatly in the empty conservatory.

  “You have only seen the front hall,” Peter pointed out.

  “And this place, which is marvelous,” Annalies said, looking up at the glass overhead. She heard more chinks and the soggy sound of shovels in damp dirt. “What are the men doing out there, by the way?”

  “Building the garden,” Peter said.

  Annalies lowered her cup. “Yes, of course. A garden. That is what this place lacked, before.”

  “It will not be just any sort of garden,” Peter added.

  “Something to rival the gardens at Versailles, perchance?” she teased.

  “At the front of the house, they may well be as grand as Versailles, although not nearly as large,” Peter said soberly, refusing to be teased. “The garden about the grounds man’s cottage will remain untouched.”

  “I’m glad of that,” Annalies said. She stretched and reached for another slice of the delicious lemon cake.

  “What made you stop the train, Anna?” Peter asked, his voice low.

  Annalies sat back, the cake untouched. She brushed her fingers of crumbs which were not there. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “You were on your way to London, weren’t you? Tobias has been expecting you for nearly a week.”

  Her middle jumped. “You have spoken to him?”

  “More than once,” Peter said, his tone even. “What happened, Annalies? What has stopped you from going straight home?”

  She bowed her head. His question, phrased as it was, speared her middle. And suddenly, she had the answers she had fought to learn for days. “I visited Kirkaldy while I was in Scotland.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Tobias told me.”

  That was a topic she would deal with later. She couldn’t concentrate on untangling the mystery right now. Her heart thudded unhappily as she probed her new understanding. “I watched Will and Bridget with their children, Peter. It hurt to watch them, because I know I will never have that joy.”