by Cheryl Holt
He chuckled. “We had quite a go of it, didn’t we? I’ll always be proud of how brave you are.”
She wasn’t brave though. She was young and scared and very stupid. She needed to inform him she might be increasing, and she was desperately anxious to ask him for some more money, but he’d already given her so much. Dare she beg for more?
They were in her London apartment, and she yearned to drag him into the bedroom like the worst doxy. She wanted to hold him close one last time, but he couldn’t tarry.
Again, she had to remember she was lucky he’d stopped by. He could have vanished with no warning. If he had, she truly believed she might have perished from despair.
She’d known the end was approaching, but she’d been living in a bubble, watching as his departure date neared, but pretending it wasn’t about to arrive.
Now what. . . ?
She wished Caroline hadn’t left for the country to stay with Miss Carstairs. Or she wished she’d accompanied her cousin. It would have been better than listening to the quiet that would descend once he walked out.
“If I had to contact you for some reason,” she said, “is there a way I could do it?”
“I’ll get mail in Gibraltar, so feel free to write. I’d like to hear from you, but it will take forever for me to receive a letter.”
“I see. . .” She forced a smile. “I guess I’m a bit fonder of you than I realized.”
“Could I tell you a secret?”
“Of course. You can tell me anything.”
“My brother learned about our affair, and he suggested we marry, but I told him you’d never settle for such a dreary conclusion.”
On having him repeat her words back to her, she could have wept with regret and insisted she hadn’t meant any of them.
She didn’t want to wind up alone and forsaken. She didn’t want to birth a child when she had no husband to give it a name. There might be a world in the future where a woman could carry on like that, but it wasn’t here yet. And though she liked to picture herself in a different light, she was no courageous radical.
She was just Janet Grey from Grey’s Corner, and she didn’t have the maturity required to face down society as a pariah.
“Could I tell you a secret?” she asked.
She gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, and there were so many comments struggling to burst out that she might have been choking on them.
How did a girl propose marriage? It was why fathers dealt with the situation. A man could confer with another man and fix the dilemma. A man could coax another man to behave appropriately. What could a woman do?
She started to tremble, and he frowned and said, “Caleb was probably correct. Maybe we should wed. It’s the expected path for us, but I would never pressure you into it. It would have to be your idea.”
She was saved from responding by a brisk knock on the door. “Hold that thought. Let me see who it is.”
She peeked out, being surprised to discover his brother standing there. There was another man with him. They appeared large and important, and she couldn’t imagine what their purpose might be.
“If you’re looking for Caroline,” she said to him, “she’s still not here.”
“We’re not looking for Caroline,” he replied. “I know where she is. I have to find my brother.”
Blake stepped into view. “You found me.”
“Have you resolved the matter?” Mr. Ralston asked him.
“She’s too adamant in her opinions. I can’t convince her.”
“We’ve debated that issue,” Mr. Ralston said. “She doesn’t get to decide.”
Janet scowled. “What are you talking about? And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss me as if I’m not present.”
Mr. Ralston pointed to the man who was with him. “Miss Grey, this is Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett. He’s engaged to Libby Carstairs.”
Janet’s scowl deepened. Lord Barrett’s engagement to Miss Carstairs had no bearing on Janet at all. She gave him the fleetest curtsy ever, then peered up at Blake and asked, “What matter were you supposed to resolve with me?”
“I told you,” Blake said. “Caleb thinks we should wed.”
Caleb Ralston interrupted. “I don’t think it, Blake. I demand it.”
“So do I,” Lord Barrett added.
Then she saw what she hadn’t initially noticed. There was a third man lurking in the hall. He was wearing a cleric’s collar and clutching a prayer book.
“This is Vicar Thompson,” Caleb Ralston said, “and since Blake is shipping out tomorrow, we’ve obtained a Special License. There’s no reason to delay the ceremony.”
“Hello, Miss Grey,” the vicar said.
Caleb Ralston gestured to Blake. “He’s the groom.”
“You certainly arranged this fast,” Blake said to his brother, appearing a bit green around the gills.
“Lord Barrett and I weren’t about to brook any nonsense. Not from either of you. You’re departing in a few hours, and when you sail away, I’m sorry to report that you’ll be a husband.” Mr. Ralston shifted his caustic focus to Janet and said, “And you, Miss Grey, will be a bride.”
Blake glowered at his brother. “I thought you were going to let me handle this.”
“If I’d let you handle it, you’d still be a bachelor in the morning.”
“Janet doesn’t want to wed me, and I won’t force her into it.”
“I’ll force her,” Lord Barrett said. “I don’t have a problem playing the part of bully in this fiasco.”
“You don’t even know her,” Blake complained, “and you definitely have no authority over her. You can’t make her do anything.”
The vicar was listening to the argument, his head swinging from person to person as they bickered.
Finally, there was a break in the conversation, and he said to Janet, “Is this true, Miss Grey? Are you being forced? Despite how Lord Barrett commands me to proceed, I won’t be a party to any coercion. Is it your wish to marry Blake Ralston? Considering the disagreement that was just aired, you’ll have to persuade me that you’d speak the vows of your own free will.”
Janet glared at Caleb Ralston, then at Lord Barrett. She still couldn’t figure out why he was there. They were doggedly determined to get their way. Then she peeked up at her dear, adored Blake. He was dressed in his uniform, and he was dashing and handsome and too delicious for words. Who wouldn’t want to be his wife?
“I’ve seriously pondered the notion,” she said, and the four men stiffened as they wondered how she’d finish her sentence, “and I would love to marry Blake.”
Blake gulped. “Are you sure? It’s never been your goal.”
“That was before I met you.”
“There were to be no strings attached. Wasn’t that your choice?”
“Yes, but I was being stupid. I didn’t comprehend how much I’d come to cherish you.”
Caleb Ralston snorted with disgust. “There you have it, Blake. She cherishes you—though I can’t for the life of me understand why.”
Janet jumped to Blake’s defense. “Who wouldn’t cherish him, Mr. Ralston? If he’ll have me, I might be the luckiest girl in the world.”
“It’s marriage, Janet,” Blake said, as if she needed reminding. “It’s matrimony, which you claim to despise. It’s forever.”
“I know it’s forever,” she told him, “and I hate that they’re insisting. I hate that I’ve consented. I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”
“It’s not a matter of forgiveness. You simply have such different views about females. I was helping you realize them.”
“I guess I wasn’t quite so independent after all. You’re not angry, are you? Please tell me you won’t be.”
“He won’t be angry,” Caleb Ralston firmly stated, “and if he ever seems to be, you
can contact me, and I’ll set him straight.”
Blake stared down at her, and a long pause spread out between them. It was possible that he might utter any terrible comment. He might disparage Janet. He might order them to the Devil and march out.
But to her great relief, he said, “I’m not angry, and I’m betting we’ll be fine.”
“There you have it,” Lord Barrett said to the vicar. “Let’s get this over with.”
The vicar spun to Janet. “I’ll inquire a final time, Miss Grey. Will you proceed?”
Janet flashed a smile at each of them in turn, then she clasped Blake’s hand and said, “Yes, I’d like to proceed, and could you hurry? I can’t wait to be his bride.”
On hearing her remark, Blake looked as if he might faint, then he squared his shoulders and said, “I’m ready too.”
“Mr. Ralston? I’m surprised to see you back in the country. What brings you by?”
On having Caleb Ralston strut into his front foyer, Samson tried to be cordial, but he held Ralston personally liable for Caroline crying off from her betrothal, so he couldn’t bear to chat.
Though it was strange, Ralston had a bevy of men with him. One man appeared rich and important, and two of them were probably clerks. The others were tough and unruly, as if they might be criminals. What could their purpose be in accompanying Ralston to Grey’s Corner?
Samson was dealing with too many problems, so he couldn’t fuss with Ralston. They still hadn’t found Caroline or Janet. Since they’d snuck away, there hadn’t been a single sighting, so he had no clue where they were.
He’d emptied Janet’s bank account, so she was out of money, and he’d assumed it would force them to slither home, but it hadn’t.
Gregory was vexing him too—worse than ever. He was convinced the wedding was off for good, so he felt he ought to marry Mrs. Starling. He swore it was his idea, but Samson thought it sounded like a ploy Mrs. Starling had cooked up. When Gregory had first mentioned the prospect, Samson was amazed he hadn’t suffered an apoplexy. He’d been that aghast.
The foul pair was at Grey’s Corner, with Gregory having to hide from creditors. Unfortunately, they’d begun to knock on Samson’s door to ask if Gregory was staying with him, and Samson was receiving demand letters by the hour, where Gregory had signed over chattels and property to which he had no ownership.
With those issues plaguing him, he didn’t have the energy to be polite to Caleb Ralston.
“I’m very busy today,” he said to Ralston, “so what is it you need? Can you be quick about it?”
“No,” the cocky oaf replied. “We should confer in your library. This may require a bit of discussion to get it resolved.”
Samson wished he was strong enough to toss Ralston out bodily, but he couldn’t have. Nor would Ralston’s flock of guards have allowed it.
“I can give you thirty minutes,” Samson said, “but that’s it.”
The rich-looking fellow said to Ralston, “While you’re talking to him, I’ll find Gregory.”
“I’d like to have a word with him before they take him away,” Ralston said.
Samson was so shocked that he was frozen into a stupor, then he physically shook himself and said to the man, “Why must you find Gregory?”
“We’re here to arrest your son as a debtor. These gentlemen”—he flicked a thumb at the vicious group—”will be escorting him to town for trial.”
Samson puffed himself up. “You have some gall to spew such outrageous claims. Who are you, sir?”
Ralston smirked. “Oh, didn’t I introduce him? This is Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett. He’s recently become very interested in Gregory.”
“Who has accused him of being a debtor?” Samson tried to seem stern and upset, as if Gregory had never wasted a penny. “Tell me that—if you can!”
“I accuse him,” Ralston said. “I have dozens of judgments, and I aim to see that he spends many, many years in prison for fraud.”
Samson was worried he might faint. Lord Barrett started up the stairs, all but one of the felons tromping after him. The one who’d lagged behind walked over to stand beside Samson, as if to prevent Samson’s escape. Ralston clasped Samson’s arm and marched down the hall toward the library. The clerks traipsed after them, the felon too.
Samson recovered his wits and struggled to squirm away, but Ralston tightened his grip and kept on. They entered the room, and Ralston flung Samson onto a chair, then seated himself at the desk—as if it and the library belonged to him.
“I won’t tolerate this abuse,” Samson blustered.
Ralston ignored him and told the clerks, “Search every drawer and ledger. Confiscate it all—even if you’re not sure it applies. Pack it and take it.”
Samson rose to his feet, and Ralston shouted, “Sit down, Mr. Grey!”
The criminal put a hand on Samson’s shoulder and pushed until Samson slunk down like a whipped dog.
“I’ll be brief,” Ralston said. “Your daughter, Janet, has wed my brother, Blake.”
“What?” It was the last topic Samson had expected Ralston to address, and it was such an odd comment that he was certain he’d misheard.
“She’s been misbehaving with him in London. I guess they pursued an amour while he was here, and when he left, she followed him to town.”
“I can’t believe it!”
“Believe it. It’s over and done.”
“She’s only twenty. She can’t have proceeded without my permission.”
“We couldn’t wait. I’m not positive, but it’s likely she’s increasing.”
Samson felt as if he’d been pole-axed. For the remainder of his life, he’d be connected to the Ralston brothers by Janet’s marriage. It was enough to make him want to weep like a baby.
Ralston continued speaking. “Blake is posted to the Mediterranean, and he’s based out of Gibraltar. She’ll join him there in a few weeks. There’s a ship for navy wives that goes back and forth regularly. She’ll be on it.”
“Will I. . . I. . . have a chance to talk to her before she sails?”
“No. She’s not interested in talking to you, and I wouldn’t let her anyway. She’s my sister-in-law, and I am declaring her to be under my protection now.”
“Bastard,” Samson muttered.
“Yes, I definitely can be.”
“I don’t agree to any of this.”
“I don’t care.”
One of the clerks bustled over and said, “Look at this document, Mr. Ralston. It spells it out in plain English.”
Ralston scanned the papers, then said, “Good work. See what other evidence he’s stashed away.”
Samson leapt up so he could peek at what Ralston had perused, but he’d forgotten the thug was lurking behind him. The man grabbed Samson by his coat and yanked him down so hard that his teeth clacked together.
He bent down and warned, “If you stand up again, I’ll beat you bloody.”
Samson was quite afraid, and he wondered where Gregory was. Why hadn’t he raced down to investigate what was occurring? Samson deemed it perfectly typical that, the moment Samson needed his son, the slothful boy would vanish.
“After her wedding,” Ralston said, “Janet showed me the strangest letter from a lawyer. She’d been trying to wrest control of her trust fund from you, and she was stunned to discover that she’s never had one.”
Samson lied with aplomb. “If that’s what she told you, then she’s gravely mistaken. Or she’s confused for some reason I can’t fathom.”
“Her lawyer advises that your family has only ever had one trust fund, and the name conveniently happens to be, The Caroline Grey Mining Trust.” Ralston stood and braced his palms on the desktop. He leaned toward Samson, his glare ferocious. “Would you like to explain that situation to me?”
“No, I would not. My finances are non
e of your business.”
“First of all, nothing in this house is yours any longer. Gregory has attached it as collateral for his promissory notes.”
“As he doesn’t own the property, he couldn’t have attached it.”
“He has guaranteed it as your heir, so after you pass away, everything will be mine. I’ve sued him in the courts to obtain it immediately—and won.”
Samson scowled, his bewilderment growing. Could a creditor get judgment on a son’s future inheritance? Was it possible? He supposed it was, but where did that leave Samson?
“I’ll confer with my own attorney,” he said, his smile tight. “He’ll fix this for me, so don’t be too confident.”
“I’m not concerned about this paltry estate. I’d like to address the main issue that intrigues me.” Ralston eased down into his chair again. “What excuse will you use to justify your lengthy embezzlement from your niece?”
“What are you saying?” Samson paled. “You can’t spew slander without consequence.”
“Truth is a defense.” Ralston was very smug.
Samson shifted nervously, watching as the clerks came over to skulk behind Ralston. Their condemning glowers left him even more rattled.
“What is your point?” he asked Ralston. “May I suggest you be very clear?”
“Your theft from her trust fund has been exposed,” Ralston blithely responded, “and you’ve been removed as trustee.”
“What? What?”
“Lord Barrett will take your place temporarily, but I’ll be in charge of it after I wed Caroline.”
Ralston had spewed so many bizarre comments that Samson couldn’t keep track of them all. He’d been removed as trustee? Barrett had taken his place? Ralston assumed he was marrying Caroline?
“You’re mad,” Samson blurted out.
Ralston nodded. “Many people have always thought so.”
“That money is. . . is. . . mine. You can’t merely swoop in and seize it.”
“It’s not yours, you deluded fiend. It’s never been yours, and I’ve already seized it. Your fingers have been yanked out of that fiscal pie, and you’ll never be able to stick them back into it. You’ve stolen your last farthing from Caroline.”