by Cheryl Holt
Winston’s antics had driven the tightfisted penny-pincher to paroxysms of outrage, and it was such a relief to have the irksome codger dead. As to Samson, he wasn’t pious, wasn’t devout, and in his view, money wasn’t godly or ungodly. It was just money, and he had no qualms about using it to make his life pleasurable.
“I learned the most intriguing information yesterday,” Caroline said, “and I’m bewildered by it. Apparently, my old shipmate, Libby Carstairs, is in London and performing on the stage there. She’s very famous.”
“Oh, yes,” Gregory said. “She’s taken the city by storm.”
“I’m told that her notoriety is due to her telling stories about our ordeal.”
“Who told you that?” Samson asked.
“Gregory’s London friend, Mr. Ralston. He claims the tale has always riveted the country and that people never get tired of talking about it.”
“What a ridiculous assertion,” Samson said. “I have no idea why Mr. Ralston would have developed such a bizarre notion, but trust me, no one is tittering about your scandal.”
“It wasn’t a scandal, Uncle,” she mulishly said. “I wish you’d quit calling it that. I was simply a little girl who survived in mysterious circumstances and against all odds. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so flippant about it.”
Samson never argued with her. She was a woman and not worth the wasted breath. He turned to Gregory and asked, “Son, are people fixated on Caroline’s ancient ordeal?”
“Gad, no. I can’t imagine Ralston believing such nonsense or feeling the need to convince Caroline of it.”
“I want to go to London,” Caroline blatantly announced.
“Whatever for?” Gregory inquired.
“I’d like to visit Libby. I’d like to find out how she’s fared over the years.”
Gregory peeked over at Samson, then said, “I don’t see why we can’t arrange a trip for you.”
Samson hid a grin and dug into his food. Gregory would never take Caroline to town. He would never arrange a trip. He had a life there and a life at Grey’s Corner, and they would never intersect. Caroline didn’t understand that reality though, so it was easy to distract her and have her assume they’d agreed.
They would never draw attention to the fact that she was a Lost Girl from that stupid shipwreck. They’d worked hard to ensure there were no reminders of it.
His father, Walter, had tamped them down because he’d viewed her parents as sinners whom the Good Lord had killed as punishment. Samson and Gregory had a more selfish interpretation of it. They couldn’t have anyone looking too closely at Caroline and wondering what sort of estate or Last Will her father might have left behind.
“I’m very anxious about London,” she said, “so I’d like to go right away. Could we manage it the week after the ceremony?”
“That would be fine,” Gregory said. “Perhaps we could ride to London together once I head back.”
“I’d like that very much. Thank you.” Caroline nodded, evidently deeming the topic resolved. He and Gregory might have relaxed, but she added, “There’s another matter too.”
Gregory chuckled. “Will it give me indigestion?”
They got along like fond siblings, which a more romantic person might have declared to be an awful basis for a marriage. Not Samson though. He was a happy widower who, on his father’s advice, had shackled himself to a vicious termagant, and he thought fondness was a terrific foundation for a couple.
“It might upset your stomach,” she said and, without pausing, she asked, “Have you been gambling?”
For an instant, Gregory froze, then he shook off his stupor. “No. Where did you hear that?”
“From Mr. Ralston again.”
Samson jumped in. “If that’s even remotely true, then you’re spending too much time gossiping with him.”
Caroline was undeterred, and she glared at Gregory. “After everyone went to bed, were you wagering for high stakes in a rear parlor?”
“It was just for pennies, Caroline,” Gregory claimed. “You needn’t fret over it.”
“I am fretting. I won’t have a husband who’s a gambler.” She shifted her cool gaze to Samson and said, “You can’t be excited about this. Please tell me you’re on my side.”
“I’m absolutely on your side.” He glared at Gregory too. “You haven’t been gambling, have you, Gregory?”
“No more than anybody else.”
“There can’t be any gambling,” Samson said. “I’m sorry, but Caroline is correct to worry about this. It’s not like you to be so foolish, and I have to put my foot down.”
“Your wish is my command,” Gregory blithely retorted, then he grinned at her. “I’ll stop—immediately—and your severe tone informs me that you’ll learn how to be a wife with scarcely any effort at all. You’ve always known how to scold me, and with our nuptials so close, you’re being even more adept than usual.”
She scoffed. “It doesn’t take much learning or effort to demand you behave yourself.”
“I apologize that Ralston distressed you,” Gregory told her. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Caroline huffed. “I’m not a child, and I can listen to a man’s words and deduce if they seem credible or not. I don’t need you to sift through them for me. I’m perfectly capable of making up my own mind.”
“Of course you are,” Gregory hastily said. “I didn’t mean to distress you either.”
“You haven’t, but could I have a few minutes alone with you today? Just you and me, without any of your London friends butting in? I’d like to discuss numerous issues.”
“What issues?”
“Well, where you’ll be living after the wedding and how we will live after it. I’d like you home in the country rather than in town. I’d also like to have some notion of our finances so I have a better idea about our household budget and expenses.”
“Yes, we can definitely chat about all of it. How about this afternoon?”
“I’ll find you around three o’clock.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
With Gregory consenting to a private conversation, she appeared placated. She was finished with her meal, and she tossed down her napkin and left. Samson waved the footmen out so he and Gregory were sequestered by themselves.
As the door was shut behind them, Gregory scowled and inquired, “What bee has gotten into her bonnet?”
Caroline never spoke up for herself or chastised others, and Samson shrugged. “She’s about to be a bride, so her life will be dramatically altered. She’s probably suffering from a bad case of jitters.”
“I hope that’s all it is. I would hate to suppose matrimony will change her into a shrew.”
“It won’t,” Samson said. “This is Caroline. There are never any surprises with her.”
“It happens to husbands constantly. A fellow assumes he’s found a sweet, biddable girl, and next thing he knows. . . poof! She’s morphed into a harpy.”
“I don’t like Mr. Ralston being so cozy with her. We can’t have a handsome Londoner filling her head with drivel. You should tell him to stay away from her.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Years earlier, they’d decided Caroline would wed Gregory. They were so near the end, and they couldn’t have any wrenches thrown into the mix.
Gregory went over to the sideboard and retrieved the bottle of brandy that was discreetly hidden there. He returned to the table and added a huge dollop to his tea. He swallowed it down, shuddered with a sort of obscene relief, then muttered, “Ah. . . hair of the dog.”
Gregory’s disgusting habits were beginning to take a toll on his condition. He was balding and fat, his face lined from vice and dissipation, so he seemed much older than thirty. Samson, on the other hand, was aging magnificently. At fi
fty, he was thin and dapper, his blue eyes alert and calculating, his blond hair having faded to silver, but it was still all there.
Gregory—poor boy—took after his unattractive, deceased mother, and Samson’s physical differences from Gregory were so stark it was difficult to imagine they were father and son.
“I see your drinking hasn’t lessened,” Samson said.
“Don’t nag, Father.”
“Your gambling is out of control too. You’re at such a low point that even Caroline has noticed. How many times will you force me to mention it?”
“I never force you to mention it,” Gregory snidely replied. “You are the one who’s determined to complain about every paltry detail.”
“Maybe Caroline’s suggestion is best. Maybe you should move home. It might diminish your need for extravagance.”
“I’m not extravagant. As you’re fully aware, I have costs in the city that would never accrue in the country. I spend only what is required as a man of Quality.”
“We were never rich before. Is that your problem? You can’t moderate your conduct. You’re like a toddler who’s suddenly been given an entire bowl of candy and gobbles it down all at once.”
“I merely enjoy the finer things in life, but so do you. Don’t pretend you’re turning into a Puritan like Grandfather Walter. We both agreed on this path, and it’s a little late now for you to grow sanctimonious.”
“I realize that fact, but you’ve just requested another quarterly advance from the trust. It’s the fifth time this year. I can’t in good conscience keep funding such luxury. You must live within your means.”
“I’ll start when you do.”
“It would help matters along if you would rid yourself of Mrs. Starling. She’s too avaricious, and you indulge her whims to a ridiculous level.”
“Leave Lucretia out of it,” Gregory said. “I’ve repeatedly warned you to mind your own business about her. Why won’t you listen?”
“Don’t be smart with me. She’ll be your ruin someday. Mark my words.”
Gregory laughed condescendingly. “Let’s simply get through the wedding, shall we? Let’s get the money secured. Then we can quarrel over it.”
He stood and stomped out, and as his strides faded, Samson slumped in his chair.
For the past decade—ever since his father had died—he’d felt as if he was perched on the edge of a cliff. He could have fallen off in either direction: to fiscal affluence and ease or to fiscal destruction and the unraveling of all his plans.
He’d pushed for the betrothal, but Gregory was so reckless, so anxious to frolic in London, that he’d refused to proceed. He believed Caroline would never renege and sever their engagement.
He stupidly assumed that no other man would ever want her, that no other man could entice her, then persuade her to back out. And of course, underlying it all, there was always the possibility that she might discover the genuine source of their prosperity.
Everyone presumed his father, Walter, had been rich but miserly, and it was why they’d carried on like paupers. But Walter hadn’t been wealthy. Far from it. The estate accounts had been empty because of his substantial donations to the Church. He’d been convinced that he could buy his way into Heaven.
No, the money they were gleefully spending was Caroline’s money, inherited from her deceased father, Winston. It was held in trust for her, with Walter, then Samson being the trustee.
When Winston was young, he’d been wild and free, and he’d regularly gone adventuring. Once, he’d even journeyed to Africa with the famed explorer, Sir Sidney Sinclair. In a stroke of astounding luck, he’d returned to England as owner of a diamond mine. Of all things!
After he’d perished in the shipwreck, Walter had declared it a gift from the Devil, generated in a heathen land and showered on a wicked son. He wouldn’t touch a farthing of it.
Well, after he’d passed on to his Great Reward, Samson had had no qualms about using it. Because it had sat quietly unexploited by Walter, it had grown to a fantastical amount, so Caroline was an incredible heiress. Samson’s most monumental fear was that she’d learn about it and demand to be involved in deciding how it was distributed.
That could never happen. He controlled her fortune. She was a woman after all, which automatically indicated she could never understand her finances. It was appropriate that she have male guidance in managing them. Her marriage to Gregory would simply guarantee that naught went wrong.
If she realized the truth later on and was angry about it, she’d be Gregory’s wife, so there would be no remedy available for her to fix what had occurred.
Her final trust fund would vest on her twenty-fifth birthday. If she wasn’t a bride by then, thousands of pounds would be squandered. The potential loss was what it had taken to goad Gregory into matrimony. His son was that irresponsible.
The wedding was in six days. It would all be over shortly, and Caroline would be bound to them forever. No other beau could swoop in and charm her. No other man could lure her—and her fortune—away from them.
It would be wrapped up nice and tight, and due to their shrewd manipulation, she would never be the wiser. Yet, if by chance, the situation was revealed, she would be Gregory’s wife and never get to voice an opinion about it.
In that, he and Gregory had never disagreed at all.
“Have you talked to them?”
“Yes.”
“And. . . ?”
Janet gazed at Caroline, and she couldn’t completely conceal her exasperation. She had no doubt as to how her father and brother would have treated Caroline. They’d have patted her on the head like a pet dog, then sent her on her way, with her feeling she’d accomplished her goal.
The two men were like slippery eels, but then, all men were. They said one thing, but meant another. They promised one thing, but did another. Early on, she’d figured out how duplicitous they could be, and it had formed the foundation of her feelings about the male gender. That—and a hefty dose of radical reading.
Women were waking up to the arduous burdens placed on them, and they were being very vocal about their grievances. In the past year, Janet had devoured a dozen books written by the most intelligent, aggrieved women in the kingdom. They insisted that it was time to yank men from their pedestals of power.
Men had ensured that society’s benefits were showered on them alone. Women couldn’t travel or live on their own or handle their own money. They were expected to wed the oafs their fathers picked for them, and if they refused an arranged match, they could be deemed hysterical and locked in an insane asylum.
She didn’t intend to ever marry. Her father had selected Gregory for Caroline, but Gregory was lazy, spoiled, and negligent. Samson recognized all those bad traits in his son, but he’d selected Gregory anyway. If he would make such a horrendous choice for Caroline, Janet could only imagine the dolt he’d find for her. She wasn’t about to risk it.
Ever since she’d finished her schooling, she’d strenuously asserted her aversion to marriage. Her father laughed and humored her, and with her being just twenty, he assumed she was going through a phase, but she was deadly serious.
She wouldn’t wed some cretin simply because her father ordered it. No, her dream was to move to London—as Gregory had—to rent an apartment and lead her own life. She’d surround herself with artists, poets, and philosophers.
She was anxious too to meet some of the brilliant women who were hoping to improve the dreary lot of females. She wanted to apply for a job and work as a secretary for one of them.
Why shouldn’t a woman be permitted to divorce a violent husband? Why shouldn’t she be able to vote? To manage her own money? Why not?
“Did you pester Gregory about his gambling?” she asked Caroline.
“He claims it’s all in good fun, and he’s merely amusing himself by playing for pennies.”
“He would say that. We’ll likely be beggared before he’s done with us. The estate isn’t entailed to a fancy title. He could wager away the whole property, and we’d wind up residing in a ditch.”
“He’d never be that reckless.”
Caroline had always been much too naïve. Janet didn’t trust or believe Gregory. She was pragmatic in a manner Caroline would never be.
“What about Miss Carstairs and London?” Janet asked. “What was their opinion about that?”
“Gregory said he’d take me after the wedding.”
Janet sighed with frustration. “You know he didn’t mean it, right?”
“Yes, I know.” Caroline grinned. “Which is why you and I shall go by ourselves.”
Janet’s jaw dropped. “You’d never be that brazen.”
“Who could stop us? Gregory and I are chatting this afternoon. I have the allowance your father provides, and I plan to demand one from Gregory too. I won’t quit nagging until he consents to it, so we’ll pay our own way. It won’t be any of his business—or your father’s.”
Janet grinned too. “Perhaps matrimony will agree with you.”
“I’ve been the lady of this house for ages, but I’ve never had any real authority. After I’m a wife, many things have to change. Most particularly, Uncle Samson and my husband have to start listening to me.”
“I can’t wait to watch it occur, and I will cheer you on at every turn.”
It would give her great pleasure to see her father and brother brought down a peg. They thought they were so important, and they definitely thought they were smarter than Janet and Caroline. The level of power they wielded was all out of proportion to the amount of effort Caroline expended on their behalves.
She and her cousin were in the front foyer, with Caroline having paused to report on her discussion with Samson and Gregory. She continued on to the rear of the manor to confer with their housekeeper, Mrs. Scruggs. Janet went in the other direction, up to her bedchamber, where she would hide for hours.