Cachet

by Shannah Biondine

  Richelle took a deep breath. "He can't. He's had business problems and his partner needs him to return to England."

  Just then the front door slammed and she heard Morgan calling out to her. "Please say nothing about a child. Give him any other explanation for why I can't accompany him. I'll see you regularly and go when you think it's safe."

  The doctor frowned. "I respect confidentiality, but—"

  "Then respect it now. It's the wife's prerogative to break this sort of news to her husband. I'll explain the truth when I join him later."

  "He's bound to resent such a deception," the physician warned, "but I'll think of some reasonable explanation."

  Moments later she heard pounding footfalls coming up the staircase. Morgan threw open the bedroom door. "We're due to sail in three days, Richelle! Three days, and you're too ill to travel? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

  "Calm down, Morgan. Shouting won't help."

  "Calm down? I've got to postpone our departure, and who knows when another passenger vessel will be available? We could be stuck here for weeks!"

  "You must as planned." Richelle hoped her voice sounded casual. Reason was her only defense now. "Aren't you glad I brought Lorella with us now? She can stay and help care for me. When the doctor says I'm recovered enough, she and I will take another ship."

  "Have you gone daft?" he thundered. "I'm not sailing without you. We go together now or together later, but I'm not leaving you behind."

  She reminded herself of his own words: the important thing to remember was the final outcome. She had to achieve her imperative. "Boyd needs you home now. You wouldn't let me send him money and you can't afford to be detained any longer. I'll follow as soon as I can."

  His eyes flashed with silver frost. "Is this some trick to avoid resolving the matter of this house? Stalling for time by feigning illness?"

  "Did the doctor say I was feigning anything?"

  "He said your digestion's gone bad. Dyspepsia, or some such rot. Assured me you were basically in sound health. Claims it's only temporary."

  "Then I'll only be temporarily delayed."

  "Christ, I'm not leaving an ailing wife behind!"

  "In the words of an Englishman I'm very fond of, what choice have you? I love you, Morgan. I didn't ask you to put everything on hold and chase after me, but I am asking you to go back. The longer you're away, the further confidence in Atkinson & Tremayne Ltd. will erode. Boyd needs you more than I do. Go home."

  Morgan's eyes probed the depths of hers. "I have to ask this. Are you coming after me, Richelle? You know I've naught to offer that can compare with this splendor. You had to concoct false books to make me look as prosperous as I'd like to be. If you had the doctor fob off a tale because you thought it would be easier to let me down this way…

  "I didn't, Morgan. I am coming back to the village, I just can't say when."

  "I've told you the thought of losing you terrifies me."

  "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. Half your problem is that overdeveloped sense of personal honor. Stop wrestling with your conscience! Americans do this sort of thing all the time. Husbands go West alone, then send for their wives and families once they're established. You're talking to a woman who lived years on the frontier, remember? The hearty Colonial. I can cope with this."

  Neither of them slept the night before he left. Richelle traced the lines of his body with her hands, committing the feel and scent of him to memory, all the while trapped in bitter irony. If she told him of their child, he'd know they shared an eternal bond. He'd know she could never leave him, never keep her child from its father and its English heritage. But if she told him, he would also refuse to leave her side, and much of that heritage would be altered or destroyed. So she held her silence.

  And watched him sail away without knowing he'd left his bride behind with his child growing inside her.

  Chapter 25

  It was late October when Richelle and Violet arrived at the private offices of a prestigious London bank. Albert Soames greeted them courteously, but his expression was dour.

  "Mistress Tremayne, my associate's report is complete. In accordance with your instructions, he thoroughly investigated the situation in Crowshaven. Mr. Atkinson's tobacco shoppe and his family's farm seem are solvent. However, as you knew, there have been problems with the livery and freight service. The Atkinson & Tremayne warehouse is sitting nearly empty."

  Richelle gestured in impatience. The banker went on. "We purchased the note against the Crowshaven Inn and paid cash for the granary outside of town." Here Albert paused. "I feel compelled to make a personal observation. I've been your aunt's advisor for many years. She trusts my judgment. In my opinion, it was a mistake to purchase that granary. No spring crops were stored there this past year, and without someone actively courting the region's farmers, it seems unlikely the fall harvest—"

  "Thank you," Richelle interrupted. "I have a man who can rent out the space. Is there anything else?"

  "My associate reports that Mr. Tremayne has ceased his usual business activity. Previously he spent most of his time in meetings with venture capitalists and investors, but of late he haunts his office in Crowshaven." Albert rose from his desk and reached for Violet's hand. "My dear, I think my assistant has tea ready in the outer room. This talk must be tediously dull for you. Richelle will join you momentarily."

  He returned after escorting her aunt from the room and handed Richelle several documents. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned them.

  "What does this mean?" She pointed to a second signature panel and notations on the back of the promissory note.

  "It was originally issued to another party, who sold it to this man Somersdale," Albert replied, shrugging. "It's common practice for notes to be discounted and sold."

  But not to Arnold Somersdale, Richelle thought darkly. Another unsettled debt.

  "I asked your aunt to leave before we discussed the final observations of my associate."

  "Which are?"

  "It seems Mr. Tremayne imbibes rather heavily." Albert cleared his throat. "I believe I understand the reason for your interest in him." The banker's gaze dropped to her stomach. "But he's obviously turned his back on his responsibilities. You may wish to bring him to heel using financial incentives, but I cannot in all conscience watch you squander your inheritance. You must preserve your resources. Think of your future and that of your unborn child."

  "I am thinking of our futures, sir."

  He shook his head. "Not clearly. There are other eligible young men. Investing in this knave who sullied you...a drunkard who likely misled you into believing he'd give his child a name...Surely you know this is folly."

  Richelle reached into her bag for the copy of her marriage license filed in Philadelphia. "Your associate should know that small villages are rife with gossip. Much of it unfounded. As you can see, Morgan and I are legally man and wife. What's become of the remainder of my funds?"

  "They remain in escrow here." Albert glanced at the license and flushed a deeper hue before returning it to her. "You'll want them drawn up immediately, of course. I apologize for any impertinence."

  "I want half the funds transferred to an investment account in my name. The other half I'll take in cash. Immediately, please, Mr. Soames. I'm leaving London this afternoon."

  A short time later Richelle and her aunt left the bank. As they entered the waiting hack, Richelle informed Violet that she and Lorella were leaving and they would need the driver to wait while she collected the luggage.

  "You can't go today, Richelle!" Violet protested. "You and the girl only just arrived yesterday. You'd been on that ship for weeks. All this traveling can't be wise in your condition. I know you're anxious to be reunited with Morgan, but—"

  "Anxious isn't the word for it, Aunt."

  The luggage had been loaded onto a hack. Lorella had already boarded when Richelle paused and turned back to Violet. "I have something for you." She held o
ut a small jewelry container padded with satin. "Elaine left these behind. They're diamond earrings Papa bought her."

  Violet's eyes widened. "Richelle, I can't take these. You should have them."

  "I'll never wear diamonds, Violet. Please keep them in memory of Jeremiah."

  * * *

  The two American women boarded a train for Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. Richelle was exhausted by the time they finally settled into rooms in a tavern near the train station there. Lorella flopped down on the narrow bed across from her mistress.

  "How much farther is Crowshaven?"

  "About an hour's ride up the road."

  "We left London as if the backs of our skirts were on fire. You insisted we had to make the early train. So why tell the innkeeper we'd be here for two or three days, if home is just up the road?"

  Richelle flushed, an awkwardness replacing the bravado that had brought her this far. "I sent a banker to take care of business in advance for me. He came back to London with a strange report. The local folk in Crowshaven seem to think Morgan's still a bachelor. The banker all but called him a sot. I can't rush home until I find out what's going on."

  They shared a pot of tea and a basket of raisin scones the next morning as Richelle outlined her plans. She didn't want Morgan to learn they'd arrived in the district until she'd settled other matters. She would need Lorella to go into the village for her, and they'd have to make sure she didn't run into Morgan.

  "There's something I saw here in a shop once. I want to go back for it," Richelle told the girl. Richelle found the open square near the river and retraced her steps from the day with Morgan. She recognized the large office building and the store where she'd seen the porcelain lamp, but it was gone.

  "Had a pair like you described, yes. But that was some months ago," the shopkeeper acknowledged with a sad shake of his head. "Sold them to another customer. Sorry."

  "Damn!" Richelle fumed as she walked back to the hotel with Lorella. "I really wanted that lamp! Typical of my rotten luck. See something I really want when I haven't got any money with me. Come back with the money, and what I want is gone."

  "Sort of like your husband."

  Richelle stopped and looked thoughtful. "There's something else, Lorella. First you must learn to call me Mrs. Tremayne, or Rachel—not Richelle. Then I need a special favor, one you must never discuss with anyone. Especially not Mr. Tremayne. It involves reverting to your old ways. I want you to bait a man. Seducing him, so to speak, although you needed go through with things to their conclusion. I just want to put him in a compromising situation. Would you do that?"

  "This men, is he handsome, like Mr. Tremayne?"

  Richelle grimaced. "Definitely not. This one's going bald and paunchy. He's about the ugliest man in town."

  "Can I accept his money?"

  "I don't care," Richelle shrugged. "If he gives you any, keep it. What I'm after is his promise on a business matter. He'll give me his word easily enough, but have no intention of keeping it. So we're going to give him a little incentive to make sure he holds to the bargain."

  They slipped into Crowshaven in the back of a hay wagon late that same afternoon. Richelle kept her face covered by the hood of her cloak and skirted the main square, taking back streets until she had a direct view of the holding company offices.

  Meanwhile, Lorella strolled across the square in a blouse that left her plump cleavage well displayed. She wandered into the mercantile, ostensibly to browse. The proprietor rushed over to greet her. It was only a matter of minutes before Arnold was drooling over his unusual new visitor.

  The girl had a strange accent, and said she was from the Scottish border. She laughed at Arnold's jests and leaned down to study the goods on a low counter. Arnold was afforded a delicious view. He was surprised when she gave him a knowing look and just laughed. "I see you like my goods as much as I like yours. Are you the bartering sort, sir? Maybe we can work out a private arrangement. Is there someplace we can be alone?"

  * * *

  Richelle watched through the windows until she was certain no dark head and broad shoulders were at Morgan's desk. She slipped inside the front door, startling Chrissandra, who was seated at the desk where Richelle had once spent long hours. "May I help—Good heavens, Rachel!"

  "Shh," Richelle cautioned, finger to her lips. "Morgan's not here, is he? I don't want to see him just yet. I plan to surprise him later."

  "No, he's not here, but Boyd's in back."

  "Not any more," came the familiar warm voice. "Rachel." He stepped forward to embrace her. The joyful reunion was followed by a strained quiet as Rachel untied her cloak, allowing her midsection to come into full view. Chrissy was first to recover.

  She came around her desk and gave Richelle a hug. "How marvelous you look! Morgan didn't tell us—"

  "He doesn't know yet." Richelle glanced at Boyd. "Can we talk?"

  "Of course. Come back to my office. Chrissy will keep an eye peeled for my partner."

  As soon as Boyd closed the door behind them, Richelle released the breath she'd been holding. "Morgan did tell you we got married, didn't he?"

  Boyd nodded. "He wired me from New York that he'd married you, but he wanted me to keep the news to myself. Chrissandra's the only other person who knows."

  "Is he pretending he's still a bachelor? Why? Is he ashamed of having married me, Boyd?"

  "Not of you. He—" He stopped abruptly, his face going a deep crimson.

  "Boyd, this is my life we're discussing. You're the only other person who knows Morgan well enough to know his mind. I'm trying to understand what I'm up against."

  "When he came back, we had a talk. He told me you'd lied—"

  "Didn't he tell you I had a good reason?"

  "About being too ill to sail home," he went on. Richelle was momentarily stunned. Had Morgan kept the secret about her previous identity even from his best friend?

  "He was certain you'd decided to stay on in America, though I suspect I now see the true reason you weren't able to sail with him." He pointedly gazed at her abdomen. "He said you'd been ill. Intestinal problem, or something. If he knew more about women, I think he might have guessed the truth."

  "If he knew more about women?" she snorted. "Boyd, we're talking about the district rake!"

  "Who had no mother, whose sister was gone before he earned that title. I don't know that he'd recognize the signs, Rachel." Rachel. It was the second time he'd called her that, and they were alone now. Morgan hadn't told him about the criminal charge.

  Boyd sighed heavily. "He's intimidated by your wealth. I must say I was surprised to hear your American home's a virtual mansion. Morgan's convinced you'll never relinquish it. I think the best he hopes for is a sort of divided life between here and Philadelphia. He said you'd come to England originally on rather a lark—"

  "He didn't say why?"

  "Something to do with family matters, is all I recall. A moot point now that your father passed away. My condolences on your loss."

  "Thank you," she murmured. "This is such a tangled mess. When you wrote about the problems with the warehouse, I offered part of my inheritance to clear the debt against the inn. Morgan refused. He insisted he needed to come back here. Just after he got your letter, the doctor confirmed I was pregnant and forbade me to make the crossing until I was farther along. I lost two babies during my first marriage. Morgan knows that. I couldn't tell him about this child, so I had the doctor mislead him. It was the only way to get Morgan home."

  "Aye, his unwavering, damnable pride being what it is. Always makes things difficult. I've often accused him of preferring life that way."

  Richelle smiled weakly. "You may be right. He once suggested I become the village schoolmistress. Of course, that would be after he battles the council elders over erecting a schoolhouse and convinces them to hire one."

  "He's put it to the vote several times. I'm the lone member to agree with him."

  "He envisions a future with his son and yours mana
ging this company in their fathers' tradition."

  Boyd grinned. "A mutual fantasy we've had since we were young. Typical masculine boast, that's all."

  "It's not. Don't you see? I could be that schoolmistress and give our son knowledge from books. I can teach reading and ciphering, but he'll need more than that. He needs his father. What you and Morgan know about trade isn't in any book."

  "And what Morgan doesn't understand about his wife would fill one."

  "How do I win him back, Boyd?"

  Boyd scowled for a moment. "His father provided for the family sufficiently so Morgan didn't have to toil as a lad. Not that he came from your privilege, but Andrew Tremayne was a leading citizen in the area and more than moderately successful. Still, Morgan hired out to any farmer who'd pay him. Up before dawn, breaking his back for next to nothing in wages. Morgan had no need to spend or hoard money. Just a burning need to earn it."

  "He told me about Anna. He still feels guilty about her death. Maybe that's why it's hard for him to believe he's entitled to happiness."

  Boyd shook his head. "It started even before her death. He's always been driven by some mysterious inner demon. You'll recall I warned you from the first, trade and business are his whole life."

  Richelle cleared her throat. "A man came from London recently and bought up the promissory notes on the inn and the cottage. He was my agent. I purchased the granary. I intend to restore Morgan's assets. His sudden decision to accompany me to America and the sale of the granary eroded his financial stability. I must undo some of that damage."

  "He must be told, Rachel. About his assets and the child. Right away."

  "I know. Is he in town or away on business?"

  "He's here, staying in the cottage. Surprised the hell out of me when he announced he was going back there."

  "Do you think you can convince him to meet with the new owner of the granary at three tomorrow?"

  "He suspects that's Somersdale. It's been sitting idle for months. Who would buy the place to leave it empty, particularly with autumn harvest upon us? He believes Somersdale bought it purely to spite him."