by Karen Kirst
Sidestepping her, he stalked back towards the house to order his valet to unpack enough clothing for the next week. Hopefully, that was all the time it would take to find a buyer.
“What kind of unfeeling man are you?” Megan called out after him, voice shimmering with indignation.
Lucian stopped dead in his tracks. Pivoted on his heel. Smiled a cold smile. “Unfeeling? How I wish that were the case! For without feelings, one could avoid a plague of problems, wouldn’t you agree? Good evening, Miss O’Malley.”
He left her there in the garden to see herself out, lips parted and eyes full of reproach. If he felt a pinprick of remorse for his less-than-stellar manners, he shoved it aside. This wasn’t about her. This was about unloading emotional entanglements. He couldn’t allow her or anyone else to distract him from his goal.
Chapter Two
Megan hesitated before the imposing mahogany-and-stained-glass door, her finger hovering above the doorbell. Gone was the eager anticipation that had marked her past visits to Charles’s home. Now there was only sadness. And dread. That Lucian Beaumont’s behavior had marred her pleasant memories of this place stoked her ire.
In her left hand, she clutched the missive that had been delivered to her cabin shortly before lunch. What could he possibly have to say to her? He’d made his intentions plain last night. Charles’s wishes meant nothing to him. Though it was a stretch, she could somewhat understand why he wouldn’t care about helping her or the townspeople. They were strangers, after all. But Charles was family. His only grandfather.
A grandfather he hadn’t bothered to come and meet, despite repeated invitations to do so.
Recalling the anguish in her friend’s eyes as he spoke of his failed attempts to bring his daughter and grandson back to Gatlinburg, Megan blinked away tears. Nursed the grudge she’d harbored towards his estranged family. Knowing what she did, she shouldn’t be surprised by Lucian’s selfish disregard of everyone else’s needs but his own.
The door swung inward, and there stood the object of her turmoil, looking coolly refined in a chocolate frock coat, tan vest and pants, and the ever-shiny black Hessians. Her gaze was drawn once again to his hair, the dark, unruly waves at odds with his neat clothing and stiff manner.
His black gaze bored into her, making her want to squirm. “Miss O’Malley, I see you received my message.”
Walking past him into the entrance hall, she was glad she’d chosen to wear one of her best outfits, a deep blue fitted jacket with layered skirts that skimmed the tips of her boots. Her mass of curls, too heavy to be piled on top of her head, was restrained at her nape with a matching ribbon.
“No princess attire today?”
“No, that was strictly for the children’s benefit.”
Glancing up, she caught him gazing at her hair with a look akin to disappointment. She blinked and it was gone. Must’ve been a trick of the light.
“I see.”
There was that phrase again. She gritted her teeth, fairly certain Lucian Beaumont did not see the true picture at all, his outlook tainted by cynicism.
“You wished to see me?”
“Actually, Charles’s lawyer is the one who asked for you. He arrived this morning from Sevierville and wishes to speak with us about the will.” He motioned for her to precede him. “He’s waiting for us in the office.”
“But Charles never indicated that I’d be included. I can’t imagine why he would’ve done such a thing.”
Lucian’s steady gaze assessed her. Perhaps gauging her sincerity? “You indicated the two of you were close. Most likely he wanted to leave you some things to remember him by. Your favorite books, for instance.”
Megan’s thoughts were a jumble as they passed through the hallway to the rear corner of the house where the office was located. She hadn’t spent much time there, as she and Charles had preferred to use the library or, weather permitting, the back porch or gardens. Like the rest of the house, this room was richly appointed with dark wood furniture and plush throw rugs. However, there were personal touches here. Artifacts from his travels littered his desk. Photographs lined the bookshelves. Even his scent lingered in the air, a blend of sandalwood and lemon. For the second time that afternoon, Megan blinked away moisture gathering in her eyes.
“Mr. McDermott,” Lucian addressed the man standing at the window, “may I introduce Miss Megan O’Malley?”
The distinguished older man smiled a greeting as he moved behind the desk. “How do you do, Miss O’Malley? I’m pleased you could join us. Won’t you have a seat so we can begin?”
She looked to Lucian, who indicated she take one of the two chairs facing the desk. On the low table between them rested a silver tea service.
“I had Mrs. Calhoun prepare a pot of Earl Grey,” he commented as he lowered his tall frame into the chair beside her. “Would you care for some?”
“Yes, please.” Hopefully the warm liquid would ease the sudden dryness in her throat. But when she attempted to pour herself a cup, her trembling hands managed to spill the brew, splashing it onto the tray and table. “Oh,” she gasped, embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
Half expecting Lucian to react with irritation, she caught her breath when he stilled her attempts to mop it up with his large hand covering hers, slipping the napkin from her suddenly nerveless fingers to do the job himself. Then he poured her a second cup, adding sugar and cream when she indicated her preferences.
“Here you are.” His enigmatic gaze met hers briefly as he settled the cup and saucer into her hands. “I believe we’re ready now, Mr. McDermott.”
“Charles summoned me here approximately six months before his death to add a stipulation to his will.”
Beside her, Lucian went as still as a statue. Tension bracketed his mouth. “What sort of stipulation? I was under the impression from your letter that the house is mine.”
Mr. McDermott nodded. “Indeed, it is, Mr. Beaumont. However, there’s a condition attached.” His thoughtful gaze settled on Megan. “As you are aware, he and Miss O’Malley were involved in various community projects. Charles felt strongly that these should continue under her guidance after his death.”
Megan quickly swallowed her mouthful of tea and set it aside before she dropped it on her lap. The storm brewing on Lucian’s face was on the verge of being unleashed, tempering her anticipation. This was not going to be pretty.
“Get to the point, McDermott,” he practically growled.
“If you do not allow her to continue use of the house as stated in the will, you will forfeit and ownership will transfer to Miss O’Malley.”
Megan’s mouth fell open.
Lucian clutched the chair’s armrests, knuckles white with strain. Megan sensed his control on his temper was slipping. “That’s ludicrous!” he pushed through clenched teeth. “How am I supposed to sell it, then? What potential buyer would agree to have their house available to the whole town?”
“Not many, I agree—” the lawyer began gathering his papers into a neat pile “—but then, Charles didn’t intend for you to sell it. He wanted to keep it in the family.”
“She’s not family,” he gritted out.
“True, but it was plain to see he cared a great deal about her. If you refused to honor his wishes, at least it would go to someone close to him. Mr. Beaumont, I got the feeling that your grandfather wanted you to stick around for a little while. Maybe he thought the town would grow on you and that you’d decide to stay.”
His grip on the armrests tightened. It was a wonder the wood didn’t snap in two. “That will never happen.”
Standing and rounding the desk, the lawyer shook her hand and nodded at Lucian. “Yes, well, it would seem the two of you have much to discuss. I’ll let myself out. Good day.”
Battling outrage and disbelief, Lucian shoved to
his feet, paced to the fireplace and leaned his weight against the marble mantel, his back to the room. He’d known the old man was controlling and manipulative, but this... Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. The tightness was returning to his chest.
He didn’t have to hear Megan’s approach to sense her nearness. The faint scent of roses wafted over. “Lucian—”
He stiffened at the soft, irrationally pleasing sound of his name on her lips.
“Mr. Beaumont,” she began again, “I had no idea what Charles was planning. I realize this will make things difficult—”
“You mean impossible,” he interrupted, turning to face her. “He’s made it impossible for me to sell this house.” He fisted his hands. “I don’t know exactly what he expected me to do. I have a life waiting for me back in New Orleans. I can’t stay here indefinitely.”
Her brow furrowed. “I can’t claim to know his reasons, but I’m certain it wasn’t his goal to make things difficult for you. That wasn’t his way.”
“Oh, wasn’t it? He certainly made things difficult for my mother when he cut her out of his life.”
He’d witnessed her tears, the brokenness caused by Charles’s need to control those around him. Even now, he was attempting to control Lucian from beyond the grave. Unbelievable.
“Is that why you never came?” she demanded, eyes brimming with accusation. “Because you couldn’t forgive him for what he did to your mother?”
“How could I forgive someone who wasn’t sorry?” He didn’t tell her Charles hadn’t wanted him here. It was too painful to put into words.
“But he was sorry.” She took a step forward, intent on convincing him. “He regretted pushing her away, I know it.”
For a second, Lucian got lost in her impossibly blue eyes. She seemed to sincerely believe what she was saying. He, on the other hand, wasn’t that naive.
“It hardly matters now,” he pushed out. “They’re both gone. And I’m left here to deal with the whims of a manipulative old man.”
She bristled. “Since you’re obviously so eager to leave, why don’t you?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me out of the way so you can be free to come and go as you like? That was probably your goal all along. Why else would a young lady like yourself willingly spend time with a man three times her age?”
The color waned and surged in her cheeks, and when she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. “Your accusations are not those of a gentleman, sir. Charles was a fine man. Good and wise and generous. He was like a grandfather to me, something you couldn’t come close to understanding.”
Whirling away, she strode from the room with her head held high. Lucian sagged against the wall. What was supposed to have been a relatively short and simple visit to East Tennessee was proving to be anything but.
* * *
At the conclusion of the church service, Megan and her sisters, Nicole and Jane, joined their good friends, Cole and Rachel Prescott, in the shade of a sugar maple’s sprawling branches. The Prescotts’ one-year-old daughter, Abby, grinned at Megan and extended her arms, wanting to be held. The sweet little girl had captured her heart the moment she was born. Megan supervised her from time to time, and she liked to think of herself as a favorite auntie. Taking her from Cole, she hugged her close. It wasn’t Abby’s fault that her dark hair and eyes reminded her of a certain haughty gentleman.
Her heart squeezed, remembering Lucian’s hurtful words and the blazing suspicion in his eyes. She’d spent a restless night, reliving their conversation again and again. He was a hard man. Arrogant and close-minded.
“So what do you think Mr. Beaumont will do?” Concern marked Rachel’s expression.
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want to stay, yet he won’t agree to leave me in charge.” She gave a dry laugh. “And the last thing he’d want is for the house to go to me. He doesn’t trust my motives.”
Cole’s hazel eyes turned quizzical. “What motives would those be?”
“He thinks the only reason I spent time with Charles was to ultimately gain control of the house, like I’m some kind of opportunist.”
Fifteen-year-old Jane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all know that’s not true. Despite his advanced years, I found Charles a delight to be around. He always had interesting things to say.” Sometimes Jane and Kate, their cousin Josh’s wife, had accompanied Megan on her visits.
Rachel nodded, pushing her heavy sable waves behind her shoulders. “The man is obviously hurting, and he’s lashing out at you.”
“But he doesn’t even know me,” Megan exclaimed, inexplicably bothered by this stranger’s poor opinion of her. “He just assumes the worst.”
Cole placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “His attitude has nothing to do with you, Megan. Something in his life has skewed his thinking. If he spent a little time with you, he’d quickly come to see his error.”
Megan wasn’t so sure. Lucian seemed to want to believe her capable of such underhanded behavior. And anyway, it wasn’t as if he was going to stick around long enough for it to matter. The only time the two of them would be spending together would be to figure out this mess.
Seventeen-year-old Nicole, who’d been leaning against the tree trunk with a bored expression, straightened and brushed off her bottle-green dress. “I’m starving. Can we leave now?”
Megan was used to her younger sister’s sour attitude, but it had gotten steadily worse since their mother, Alice, and Jane’s twin, Jessica, had departed last week for Cades Cove. Their oldest sister, Juliana, was due to deliver her first baby any day now. Of course, they’d all wanted to go, but there simply wasn’t enough room in her sister’s cabin. Too many people milling about would overwhelm the new parents, anyway.
She aimed a reproving frown her way. “If you’d rather not wait for us, you’re welcome to go on ahead.”
Jane, ever the diplomat, offered to go with her.
Megan watched the two girls, so different in both appearance and temperament, head arm in arm down Main Street. Then her gaze encountered her friend, Tom Leighton, striding in her direction wearing a determined look.
With a smile at Rachel and Cole, she returned Abby to their arms. “I guess I should go, as well. I’m keeping you from your lunch.”
“No, you’re not—” Rachel smiled as she spoke “—but I can see a certain gentleman is intent on snagging your attention. Whenever you need to talk, our door is always open. Come over anytime.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Megan watched the couple stroll to their wagon, Cole holding Rachel close to his side, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. She was thrilled to see her friends happy at long last. Cole and Rachel had very nearly lost each other, but God had brought them back together in their darkest hour.
“Megan, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hello, Tom.” She smiled at the tall and lean barbershop owner, genuinely happy to see him. His easygoing personality made it easy to relax in his presence. “How are you, today?”
“Better now that I’m talking to you.” He grinned, dimples flashing. “Josh invited me to join you for lunch at his parents’ house. Care to walk with me?” He held out his arm.
She felt a flash of momentary irritation. Her cousin Josh insisted on pushing his best friend and her together, and she didn’t like it one bit. While Tom was an extremely nice man, she wasn’t interested in more than friendship. There was no spark, only casual affection.
Growing up, she’d envisioned a dashing hero, her own personal knight in shining armor sweeping into her life and fulfilling all her childhood dreams. Older and, she hoped, wiser at twenty years of age, she realized the impossibility of those expectations. No man could be everything she needed and desired. God alone could be her all in all. Sti
ll, the romantic, idealistic side of her hoped for a man who would challenge her, thrill her, cherish her.
So far, that man had yet to materialize. She was beginning to fear he never would.
Suppressing a shudder, she met Tom’s hopeful gaze. “I’d love to, but I’m going home for lunch.”
“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” His smile held a tinge of disappointment.
“Not this time.” She wasn’t in the mood for a crowd today, even if it was family. Her mind was too full of Lucian Beaumont.
“All right, but at least let me walk with you part of the way.” He lifted his hat and fluffed his brown hair, a habit that left him looking like a ruffled little boy. An adorable one, at that. How could she refuse him?
Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, she smiled her thanks. His conversation managed to distract her, at least until they passed the turnoff for Charles’s house. What was Lucian doing right this minute? Had he decided how he was going to handle the stipulation?
Friday would be upon them before they knew it. If he was not planning on honoring Charles’s wishes, she needed to know sooner rather than later. The children deserved to be told ahead of time, as did the people preparing for the poetry recital coming up. She would visit him first thing in the morning, she decided. No reason to delay what would surely be an unpleasant confrontation.
If Lucian Beaumont thought he could run roughshod over her and this town, she would soon prove him wrong.
Chapter Three
Rounding the curve in the tree-lined lane leading to Charles’s house, Megan was presented with an unobstructed view of the gardens spreading out behind it. Against the backdrop of gray skies, the lush grasses seemed greener than usual, the vibrant flower patches more vivid. Tree branches swayed in the rain-scented breeze.
And there, in the midst of everything, sat the lord of the manor. Eating his breakfast and perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And looking entirely too at home, she thought peevishly. He was a worldly-wise gentleman, wealthy beyond belief and accustomed to the conveniences of city life. He didn’t belong in her quaint mountain town.