Someone to Cherish

by Cheryl Holt

  “I demand to speak to her!” Samson blustered. “Produce her at once so she can inform you of how happy she’s been with how I’ve managed her affairs.”

  “You have the gall to claim she’s been happy? Is that your position? She was happy with how you stole from her?” Ralston gestured to the clerks. “These two fellows are very good with numbers, and they’ll be delving into your records. Eventually, they’ll apprise me—down to the penny—how much you pilfered.”

  “I spent all of it for Caroline’s benefit! I spent it to make her life better! Just ask anyone. She lived like a princess in my home!”

  Ralston clucked his tongue with offense, and the clerks bristled. The thug whacked Samson alongside the head and said, “Shut up. We’re sick of listening to you.”

  Samson might have chastised the cretin, but he looked so fierce that Samson didn’t dare. He gazed at Ralston instead and insisted, “You can’t do this. You can’t!”

  “The switch of trustees is complete,” Ralston said with a grim finality, “and now, you simply need to prepare for your arrest.”

  “My arrest!”

  “Yes, you and your son. After I’ve notified Caroline of your malfeasance, I can’t predict if she’ll seek revenge or not. She’s a very kind person, so she may request leniency on your behalf, but until then, you’ll be incarcerated.” Ralston rose to his full height, like a judge about to pass sentence. “If I am the man to decide your fate, I shall ask that you be hanged and that I be allowed to pull the rope that breaks your neck.”

  Samson forced out, “Caroline wouldn’t want you to treat me this way.”

  “I don’t plan to tell her. I’ll keep her in the dark—as you have. I’ll arrange to have you executed, and she’ll never learn what happened.”

  Samson gulped with terror and fainted dead away.

  “Ralston! What the bloody hell is going on?”

  Gregory stormed into the library, but with his wrists shackled, it was difficult to muster much bravado.

  He’d been napping, sleeping off his hangover, when a group of ruffians had barged into his bedchamber. He’d recognized Lord Barrett from socializing in town, but he hadn’t known any of the others. They’d dragged him off the bed and attached his fetters without uttering a word as to their purpose.

  He’d been marched down the stairs without being permitted to make himself more presentable, so he was barefoot, not wearing a coat, his hair standing on end.

  “Hello, Gregory,” Caleb Ralston said. “Thank you for joining us. Have a seat.”

  Ralston was behind his father’s desk, comfortably relaxed as if it belonged to him. Lord Barrett grabbed Gregory and was hauling him across the room when he saw his father unconscious on the floor.

  He blanched. “You deranged lunatic! Have you killed my father?”

  “Not yet.” Ralston smiled an evil smile.

  At hearing their voices, Samson stirred and sat up. He was swaying, off balance, and Gregory helped him to his feet, then Samson staggered to a chair, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “They’ve taken the money from us!” Samson wailed.

  “What?”

  Gregory plopped onto his own chair and scowled at his father, but before the man could clarify his comment, Ralston said, “Your sister, Janet, has married my brother, Blake.”

  Gregory’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true, and after the wedding, she provided me with some very interesting information.”

  Samson was gesturing oddly, as if warning Gregory to be careful. Gregory received his message. “My sister is flighty as a mockingbird.”

  “Most women are,” Ralston agreed, “but in this instance, I felt compelled to investigate her story. Lord Barrett and I did some digging into the Caroline Grey Mining Trust.”

  “Oh. . .” Gregory murmured, then the import settled in, and he said more firmly, “Oh!”

  “You can imagine our surprise when we realized that it was created by Caroline’s late father and that Caroline is the sole beneficiary.”

  “I don’t know much about it,” Gregory claimed, “so I can’t really furnish any details.”

  Ralston scoffed in an eerie way. “You don’t know much about it? How peculiar then that so many of the quarterly disbursements have been shifted into your own bank account.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Gregory said. “I’ve obtained no such disbursements.”

  Ralston ignored him and continued. “We were stunned by the amounts that have poured into the trust over the years. If you and your father hadn’t pilfered so much of it, she’d be one of the richest women in England, but the money is still flowing in. With some tidy management, it will grow back quickly.”

  “Well, good for Caroline,” Gregory said, “but I’m confused over what any of it has to do with me.”

  “You’re being charged with fraud and embezzlement.”

  “Now see here, Ralston!” Gregory huffed. “If there are funds missing from that stupid trust, pester my father about it. Not me. He is the trustee. I never had any authority over it.”

  Samson sucked in a sharp breath. “You little shit! You’re blaming me for this debacle?”

  “Of course, Father. How could I have glommed onto any of it?”

  Samson studied Gregory, and his father looked defeated and disgusted. Then he straightened his shoulders and said to Ralston, “Gregory and I agreed to spend the money on ourselves, and we convinced ourselves that Caroline wouldn’t mind. But Gregory is a wastrel, so he sought more and more, and I constantly gave it to him. He resided in London and pursued a style of living that was far beyond his means. Caroline has another fund vesting on her birthday—if she’s wed by then—so we were pressuring her to marry him before it was too late.”

  “Ah. . . so that was your motive,” Ralston mused. “We’ve been curious about it.”

  Gregory fumed, “Father! Shut your mouth!”

  “I’m not listening to you anymore,” Samson furiously said to Gregory, then to Ralston, “She decided to back out of her betrothal, and we couldn’t let her. Gregory suggested we have her declared incompetent and locked in an asylum so we could garner control of her fortune without ever having to worry about her in the future.”

  “Father! Stop lying! I would never have behaved so abominably toward her.”

  Samson added, “Somehow, Caroline learned what we were planning, and she ran away. I’m ashamed that we debated the idea, and I most humbly apologize.”

  Every eye in the room swung to Gregory, and he said, “My father can beg your pardon and pretend remorse all he wants, but he acquired the court order. Not me! He was fully prepared to have her committed.”

  There was a shocked silence, and into it, Lord Barrett said, “You two are the sorriest pair of men I’ve ever met.”

  Gregory knew he had to brazen it out. “Are we finished? I could use some breakfast.” He stood and extended his wrists. “Would someone remove these blasted ropes? I’d like to get on with my day.”

  A ruffian yanked him down onto his seat, and he muttered in Gregory’s ear, “Be quiet, you dirty dog, or I’ll gag you. And if you stand up again before Mr. Ralston gives you permission, I’ll break your leg so you can’t stand.”

  Gregory gulped with dismay, and he glared at his father, his expression beseeching Samson to do something, but his father wouldn’t even look at Gregory. Gregory glanced at the door, wishing Lucretia would stomp in. She was a termagant when riled. She’d put them in their places.

  “Gregory Grey,” Ralston said, “I have bought up your markers in town. Every debt. Every promissory note you’ve ever signed. They’re mine now. I also hold every loss from your wagering, both at my gambling club and with me personally. I demand immediate payment.”

  They were the most frightening words Gregory had ever heard. “I
can’t pay. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Is it your admission,” Ralston said, “in front of these witnesses, that you haven’t the money to cover what you owe?”

  “You’re aware that I don’t. If I’d had it, I’d have paid my bills when they were first due.”

  Ralston nodded as if it was the precise answer he’d been expecting. “I accuse you of deliberately defrauding me. I accuse you of accumulating financial liabilities you shouldn’t have assumed. I accuse you of premeditated deceit.”

  “I didn’t deceive anyone,” Gregory insisted. “London is dreadfully expensive, and I simply couldn’t keep up.”

  Samson smirked. “Gregory, you’re already in a very deep hole. You should quit digging.”

  A thug approached, and he slapped some papers into Gregory’s hand. “I arrest you for embezzlement from your cousin, Caroline Grey, but also for the swindling of dozens of merchants and vendors who have conveyed their legal rights to Caleb Ralston. Come with me.”

  “Come. . . where?” Gregory asked.

  “You’ll be in jail in London until your trial. I can’t imagine you’ll have much of a defense, so I can’t predict what will occur after it ends.”

  Ralston grinned malevolently. “I shall argue that you be hanged, but I suspect Caroline will be content with a lesser penalty. You’ll likely be transported to the penal colonies. I’ll be fine with that conclusion—just so long as you never show your pathetic face in England ever again.”

  “Caroline wouldn’t want you to treat me this way,” Gregory said.

  His father snickered. “I tried the same tactic, Gregory. It doesn’t work with him.” Samson fell to his knees, his hands folded as if in prayer, and he said to Ralston, “I sincerely regret my behavior toward Caroline. Please tell her how sorry I am. Have her visit me in prison, so I can apologize to her directly. I need her to know how mortified I am.”

  “Caroline will never visit you,” Ralston replied. “I will never allow it. Not ever.”

  Gregory frowned. “Why would you suppose you’d have any authority over Caroline?”

  “Didn’t I mention?” Ralston said. “She’s my fiancée, and soon, she’ll be my wife.”

  Samson unhelpfully explained, “He intends to take control of our money—by becoming her husband.”

  Gregory blanched. Ralston was marrying Caroline? How had that happened? When had it happened? Why would they have enjoyed more than a passing acquaintance?

  “You’ve stolen my fiancée?” he said. “And you’ve stolen our money? This is an outrage!”

  He hoped he looked nobly aggrieved, but his bluster was cut short when the thug who’d previously threatened him stuffed a kerchief into his mouth.

  “I warned you to shut up,” the cretin said.

  Gregory was dragged out, and he peered over his shoulder, visually seeking his father’s intervention, but Samson was still on his knees and begging Ralston for mercy. Not that he was having any luck. He was lifted to his feet and marched out behind Gregory.

  “Where am I going?” Samson asked Ralston. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To jail in London to await trial with your son.”

  “May I pack a bag? May I fetch my purse so I have some money to defray expenses once we arrive?”

  “You don’t have any money,” Ralston said. “It’s all Caroline’s, and it’s our opinion that she wouldn’t like you to get your grubby fingers on what’s left of it.”

  Lucretia tiptoed to the stairs and peeked over the railing. She couldn’t see anyone, but angry voices drifted up from a parlor.

  Ever since Gregory had been physically carried from their bedchamber, she’d been hiding in the dressing room, wondering what to do.

  It appeared his creditors had caught him, and she was kicking herself for being such an idiot. Why had she tarried by his side? Why hadn’t she snuck away the instant she’d noticed trouble brewing?

  Her only excuse was that she’d grown complacent. They’d been together for years, and they’d lived in a posh manner. The funds had magically flowed in, and she’d never had to worry about where they came from or where they went.

  Gregory was on a sinking ship. Should she dawdle and throw him a rope? Or should she swim to safety and let him drown?

  Even as she posed the question, the answer was obvious: She wasn’t about to have any of Gregory’s consequences land on her. That very minute, he might be under arrest. What if her name was on a warrant somewhere? What then?

  She hurried back to their bedchamber, and she grabbed a satchel and crammed her jewelry into it. Gregory had a few pounds stashed in a drawer, and she took that too. Then she rushed out, her mind awhirl with plans.

  She’d head straight to London and begin to pack. Before any of them moved to attach their house, she’d be gone with all the items of value. If she was thrifty, she’d be fine. She would gradually pawn baubles and support herself until she could find a new paramour. She was young and beautiful, and she had no doubt she’d succeed in tempting a worthy candidate.

  She smirked with satisfaction. Goodbye Gregory Grey! He was a reckless fool whose chickens had come home to roost, and she’d stayed much longer than she should have.

  She dashed down the hall and was about to start down the stairs when she noted the housekeeper, Mrs. Scruggs, lurking in the shadows. The shrew glared at Lucretia in a condemning way, and in a different world, Lucretia would have paused to scold her for being impertinent. She might even have fired her, but there was no time to fret over a snooty, incompetent employee.

  No, Lucretia had to get away while the getting was good.

  She flitted down to the foyer, but her luck didn’t hold. A mob of men flooded out of Samson’s library. Gregory was at the front, with two criminals gripping his arms so he couldn’t escape. He was gagged, his wrists fettered.

  They marched by her, and Gregory was straining against his guards, trying to tell her something, but with the kerchief in his mouth, she had no idea what it was.

  His father was brought out next, and he stared morosely at Lucretia and said, “We’ve been arrested. We’re being transported to London to be jailed.”

  “Dear me!” she said, feigning alarm.

  “Would you contact a lawyer for me please? Have him visit me so we can discuss his posting my bail.”

  “I will hire one for you,” she lied. Once Gregory and Samson were whisked away, it was her specific intent that she would never see either of them ever again.

  Samson was yanked out the door, and she breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

  Caleb Ralston and Lord Barrett strolled toward her. She couldn’t figure out why Barrett was present, but she didn’t have to ponder what part Ralston had played in Gregory’s downfall. Gregory owed the oaf a bloody fortune, and Lucretia had warned him over and over about Ralston.

  Caleb Ralston was not a man to be tricked or cheated, and lesser men defrauded him at their peril.

  “What’s happened to Gregory and his father?” she asked Ralston, hoping she looked innocent and concerned.

  “I’ve bought Gregory’s debt, and he can’t pay me, so he’s been swept up as a debtor.”

  “How awful—for both of you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re devastated,” Ralston sarcastically said. “They’re also accused of stealing from Caroline Grey.”

  Lucretia frowned. “What could they have stolen from Miss Grey? As far as I’m aware, she doesn’t have a penny to her name.”

  Lord Barrett scoffed with derision, as Ralston said, “We haven’t requested a warrant for you. Yet.”

  She quailed, her knees suddenly so weak that she had to grab the bannister. “Why would you have suspicions about me? I’m simply Gregory’s devoted friend. What crime could I have committed?”

  “In case you’re expecting to slither to your
London home, you should know that we’ve seized it. Even as we speak, I have investigators there who are tabulating the contents.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “I’m certain every chattel in the place, as well as the house itself, was purchased with Caroline’s money. We’ll sort it out, but in the meantime, you’re not welcome there.”

  His words pummeled her, and she shivered with terror. She didn’t have anything of her own. Every little piece of her life had been acquired with what Gregory had taken from his cousin’s trust fund. If Ralston had custody of all of it, what would she do?

  “I should be going,” she said. “Mr. Grey has asked me to hire a lawyer for him. I should rush to town to see if I can help him.”

  She might have walked on, but the old bat, Mrs. Scruggs, called from up on the landing, “Mr. Ralston, would you check the satchel Mrs. Starling is carrying? I believe it’s stuffed full of jewelry. As long as you’re seizing Miss Caroline’s possessions, it’s probably hers.”

  Lucretia’s first instinct was always self-preservation. She bolted, but Ralston was a large man, and in two quick strides, he’d restrained her.

  He held her while Lord Barrett peeked into the pouch. They were her jewels, gifts from Gregory over the years, but with her concealing them in the bag as she had, she appeared horribly guilty.

  “We’ll just be keeping these,” Lord Barrett said.

  “They’re mine!” she insisted. “You can’t have them.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” Barrett snidely retorted.

  Ralston marched Lucretia outside. He was still clutching her arm, and though she struggled to free herself, she couldn’t.

  There was a carriage in the drive, the door open, Gregory and his father slouched on the seats. Ralston dragged her over to one of the ruffians.

  “This woman is Gregory’s paramour,” Ralston said. “She should be arrested too.”

  Lord Barrett approached and showed the satchel to the men. On their observing what she’d hoarded, she was met with reproachful glowers, and Barrett said, “She’s as big a thief as Samson and Gregory Grey. She might be even worse.”