“I didn’t mean to intrude, Mrs. Prior. I was just wondering if you needed anything else this evening. Otherwise, I’ll retire for the night.”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Sinclair. Thank you for being so helpful today. It could have been very difficult had you not been so generous with your acceptance.”
Hannah smiled faintly. “We’ve all gone through enough difficult times, don’t you think?” And then, when she could have said so much more, she cast a tender glance toward the now slumbering child and murmured, “Good night, Mrs. Prior.”
Garnet watched the other woman retreat, relief weakening her knees, and gratitude softening her heart. This was the family she’d wanted: Hannah with her knowing empathy filling a mother’s void, Patrice, with her outspoken candor, a sister to share secrets and sorrows with.
But they were not her family. They were Deacon’s. And suddenly she felt very much the intruder within the elegant walls.
Sinclair Manor. It was more beautiful than she could have ever dreamed. The endless acres of rich land, the stately brick home steeped in tradition and pride. The sense of affluence, of society at the very pinnacle.
Though she could buy her way in, she couldn’t make herself belong. Not to the house and its history, nor to the man who should have held them both.
She didn’t care if the wealthy of Pride County didn’t take to her. She had enough money now to assure her acceptance if not their approval. She didn’t care if they liked her means of taking over the Manor or the progressive use of parceling out its fallow lands. Their opinions meant little to nothing to her. Only one man mattered—the one who shouldn’t have held sway over her emotions.
She wanted to impress Deacon Sinclair. To make him realize that in using and betraying her, he’d made the miscalculation of his life.
Montgomery sat upon the foot of Deacon’s big bed, sketch pad across his knees. He diligently worked to capture the twists and intricacies of the design of a side table centerpiece, failing to notice that Garnet was in the room until he was satisfied with his shading. Then he glanced up and smiled, proudly showing his pencil rendition.
“Very nice. Needs more shadow there.”
He noted the area with a frown, then nodded. “You’re right. You’ve a discerning eye.”
“Considering I have no ability, you mean.”
“Now, I would never say something so cruel as that.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t.” She sighed and walked to the long windows. Looking out over the lawn, the sense of pretense returned. The fact that all was hers still escaped her.
“You appear worse for wear, lovey. Perhaps I should let you retire.”
“I would appreciate that … Monty.”
Without another word, he folded his drawing pad and slid from the bed, pausing only long enough to press a fond kiss to her temple. Then he adjourned into the attached sitting room where a day bed had been prepared, “for his bouts of insomnia,” he’d told the staff. In truth, Monty slept like a stone. But he didn’t sleep with his wife. The story had been created to quell gossip.
That she and Monty slept in separate beds was a story Garnet didn’t want to get back to Deacon on their first night under this new roof.
With a soft, “Good night, dear,” Monty shut the door between their rooms, leaving Garnet to her privacy and her troubled thoughts.
Was she doing the right thing? she asked herself again, as she stretched out across the same mattress where Deacon had spent his recent nights in slumber. She was right to want retribution for what her father had suffered. She was right to demand compensation for Deacon’s lies. But was she right in placing herself and her son in this house, with the one man who could hurt them both beyond reparation?
It wasn’t for her father that she was here. It wasn’t for her own injured heart. It was for William. And it was William that she would protect, no matter what the cost to her own emotions.
He was her future, her hope.
And it was up to her to decide if Deacon Sinclair had a place with them in it.
Whether he wanted that place or not could wait until she’d determined if he was worthy.
Worthy of being her son’s father.
Chapter 10
Coming downstairs to find himself in the hub of bustling industry shocked Deacon. This was how his house had once been, before the war, before his father’s death. Prosperous. Smelling of beeswax and humming with the murmuring of servants. Under his own reign those scents had turned to decay and those voices had been silent. It wasn’t his fault, he knew even as he thought it, but the mind couldn’t dismiss the blame settling deep in his spirit.
He’d brought ruin to his household and left it to others to restore.
Not sure what he should be doing or where he should go, he lingered in the front hall, stepping out of the way as several housemaids hurried by without halting in their chatter. They didn’t recognize him as anyone important. It surprised him still to realize that they were right. That sat ill with him; the sense of having no purpose adding to his melancholy. Until a small voice interrupted his brooding.
“Lookee, Mr. Sinclair. It’s all better this morning.”
Obligingly, Deacon bent down to survey somberly the stubby little thumb held up to him. “Yes, indeed, it does look better. The reward for your bravery, young man.”
Pleased with that, William grabbed onto Deacon’s hand and began towing him toward the dining room, chattering happily as he went. In his childish innocence, he didn’t notice the way Deacon reacted to the impulsive contact—with startlement and alarm.
“Mama’s having her coffee. She said you was driving us into town this morning.”
“Really? So my status has been upgraded to driver.”
“Do you like horses, Mr. Sinclair? I do. Mama promised me a pony when I get bigger. Did you have a pony?”
Recalling the temperamental creature, as broad as it was tall, that his sister had misnamed Princess, Deacon smiled. He still had a scar on the back of his thigh from where the surly beast had bitten him.
“Yes, I did.”
“Where is he now?”
“He died. A long time ago.” Strange, how thinking of that nasty animal filled him with such a flood of memory. Had he really been as full of animation and blissful eagerness as the boy tugging on his hand? It was a past he’d lost touch with long ago—like the tears he’d shed when he’d heard of that vicious pony’s death. Then the sound of his father’s voice slashed through his memory.
Men don’t cry. Wipe your eyes and stop disgracing me.
Even after all the years, the echo made him stand up straighter.
“Where are the rest of your horses?” the boy continued. “Boone and me was out to the barn and it’s as empty as a church on Monday.”
“All our horses were sold.” Before the little inquisitor could ask, he added, “To make room for the ones you’ll buy.” No sense in confusing the child with the truth, that the horses were sacrificed to buy legal aid that proved as empty of success as the stalls now stood.
He hadn’t been able to find a way to break Tyler’s hold on his properties, and now they were his no longer.
“William, are you bothering Mr. Sinclair?”
“No, Mama. We was talking about horses. Mr. Sinclair had a pony just like the one I want to get.”
Deacon smiled to himself. Not just like dear departed Princess, he hoped. Then he looked up from the glowing little face to the impeccably garbed Garnet Prior and his smile thinned.
“He’s no bother. He was telling me about the schedule you’d made for my time today.”
She didn’t blush at the mild censure in his tone. “Good. We’ll be leaving in an hour. I’m checking on several properties in town and I want your escort.”
“Isn’t that what you have a husband for? Where is his lordship this morning?” He glanced around the empty dining room, noting the feast set out upon his family’s newly polished silver.
“Monty prefers to
start his day at what he calls a civilized hour.”
“Obviously not born to a plantation or farm schedule.”
“No.” She allowed a small smile that set Deacon’s senses shivering. He thought of the long ride to town—just the two of them.
“If it’s an escort you need, I see plenty of able souls about this morning.”
Her mood froze along with her smile. “It’s not a request. I want you with me because I’m looking at possible store properties. I assumed you’d be interested.”
She’d assumed wrong. “If you say so.”
She crossed to the sideboard, cup in hand, then waited, longer than she should have had to, for him to come and pour for her.
“After I decide on a property, we’ll meet with Mr. Fairfax for lunch.”
“Mr. Fairfax? Cole or Tyler?”
“Tyler.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Again, it’s not a request. He specifically asked that you be there.”
To taunt him, the maggot. “Then he’ll have to be disappointed.”
Garnet leveled an impatient stare. “Perhaps you don’t understand. You will accompany me to lunch with Mr. Fairfax.”
Silence stretched out between them with a tension thick enough for William to notice. He pulled at Deacon’s sleeve.
“You’ll go, won’t you? Then I can have somebody to talk to.”
Deacon’s gaze dropped to the boy. He gave a narrow smile. “I guess I can’t refuse, then, can I?” His stare returned to Garnet’s, conveying his answer like a slap. Because the boy asked, not because she demanded. She set down her untouched coffee.
“It’s settled, then. An hour, Mr. Sinclair.”
“I’ll be counting the minutes, Mrs. Prior.”
After she’d exited the room with a regal toss of her head, Garnet collapsed back against the hallway wall. Her knees were shaking and her palms made damp marks where they clutched the bell of her skirt.
Her first confrontation with Deacon was not exactly the success she’d hoped it would be. She’d ordered and he’d balked. What would she have done if William hadn’t been there to earn Deacon’s compliance? How would she have backed up her command? With threats? By throwing him out of the house he’d been born in? Though she was grateful the moment was over, it had taught her a valuable lesson: never issue ultimatums unless she could back them up with something stronger than a little boy’s wishes.
Deacon Sinclair was not going to submit gracefully to her rule. How to gain leverage over him would be her next order of business. Because if he ever guessed how flustered she was just being in the same room with him, her tenuous control would be broken.
Just as he’d already broken her heart.
The drive into Pride wasn’t as awkward as it could have been, mainly because of William. With his mother bundled up in the back of the open carriage, he stood with arms crossed on the back of the front seat, chattering to Deacon as he handled the reins. The two adults never exchanged a word.
Garnet took advantage of the time to observe her surroundings. Raised on a farm, she knew how to gauge the lay of the land and estimate its productivity. How her father would have loved the chance to coax crops from this dark bluegrass country. She admired the remaining plantation homes that sat back from the road in queenly elegance. She cringed at the sight of the scorched chimneys rising out of rubbled dreams, well remembering what she’d left behind.
And she covertly watched her son and Deacon together. His patience with the boy surprised her. For a regimented man who’d shown little tolerance since her arrival, he set aside his hostility where the child was concerned. And William blossomed under the attention.
Monty was good to the boy, but he still saw William in the traditional manner of “should be seen and not heard,” with instruction coming from paid tutors rather than indulgent parents who were free to shoo him away when his questions grew tiresome. But Deacon, even as a captive audience, answered the endless stream of curiosity, speaking to him not as a bothersome child but as a small adult. And the potential she saw there confused the feelings of disloyalty and desire already volleying for dominance within her.
Then they reached the outskirts of Pride and she could see Deacon withdraw into a stony silence.
“William, sit here with me, darling.”
The boy pouted but did as instructed, obviously preferring Deacon’s inattention to his mother’s doting.
He was growing up too fast.
Pride. Deacon’s home. Though she’d seen many bustling cities since she’d once dreamed of visiting here, the sight of the small but growing town touched a chord in her heart. This was the place she’d envisioned when she’d thought of a home and a place to raise her family, a place where there were more churches than saloons. A place where tradition remained untouched even as progress had its way along the wide main street. A setting intimate enough to be run by neighbors who all knew one another, yet reluctantly opening to outside influences.
She and Monty were classed among those intruders flooding in with money and changes in mind. Only her plan wasn’t to dominate and alter the harmonious blend of past and present in a mad, greedy rush toward the future. Hers was to become an accepted part of all she saw—family to the businesses just now opening their doors to a crisp new morning and to the people who greeted Deacon with a recognizing nod and her with undisguised suspicion.
In belonging to Pride, she’d be one step closer to Deacon.
“Go to the bank,” she called to the back of Deacon’s head. “Mr. Dodge was going to show me what was available.”
He made no move to show that he’d heard her but did pull the carriage up in front of the new bank building. Deacon alighted with a fluid bound and tied off the horses. He then caught William, who launched himself trustingly into his arms. Garnet stood, and after again waiting for an insulting length of time, took the hand Deacon finally offered up to her.
If Pride’s banker, Hamilton Dodge, thought it strange that the former and current owners of Sinclair Manor stepped into his office together, he betrayed no sign of it. He came up out of his chair, smiling broadly, depending slightly upon a gold-headed cane as he made his way around the huge desk.
“Good morning, Mrs. Prior. Right on time. Have a seat, ma’am. Deacon, some coffee? Hasn’t been sitting long enough to require a knife and fork.”
“No. Thank you.”
Garnet settled into the chair the amiable Northerner proffered. She’d never had dealings with the banker directly, but Tyler Fairfax intimated that he was shrewd and trustworthy, high praise from one who seemed to trust no one. She had wondered where Dodge stood in her purchasing of the Sinclair properties, but Dodge wordlessly answered that question with a squeeze of his hand upon Deacon’s shoulder.
“How you holding up?” he asked with a quiet concern. Deacon only nodded, his expression stoic, his mood remote. Dodge didn’t pursue it. Instead, he returned to his seat to find William had climbed up into it.
“Hello. Who’s this?”
“My son, William. William, get down from there. I’m sorry, Mr. Dodge—”
“No need for apologies, ma’am. Got one about the same age, myself. Hell on wheels, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He lifted William, then settled into his chair with the boy on his lap in the easy manner of a father. He located some blank sheets of paper and a pen. “Here you go, William. Why don’t you draw me something while I talk to your mama and Mr. Sinclair?”
As William set happily to the task, Dodge regarded his customers with a bit more curiosity. “I’ve found several properties that could serve your needs, ma’am. Be happy to show them to you. Just what’s your interest here, Deacon?” At least he didn’t hem and haw but came straight to the point.
“Mr. Sinclair is going to run my store for me, so I’d like his input as well.”
Dodge arched a brow. “That so? I didn’t know you had mercantile leanings, Deke.”
“A newfound passion,” Deacon drawled, �
��prompted by the need to survive.”
To her credit, Garnet let that pass without comment.
Dodge looked between the two of them, probably seeing more than either wanted him to. But before he could say anything, the door burst open to emit a pint-sized tornado.
“Papa, Miz Sadie’s cat had its kittens and she said I could have one if—” The boy drew up, taking in the sight of another child occupying his place on his step-father’s knee. Green eyes narrowed as he assessed the possible threat.
“Speaking of hell on wheels, this is Christien. Chris, this is Mrs. Prior and her son, William.”
The boy bowed properly to Garnet and murmured a polite, “Pleased to meet you.” She stared at the handsome child, wondering why he looked so familiar, until Dodge answered her musings.
“My wife, Starla, is Tyler Fairfax’s sister. The boy favors his uncle, don’t you think?”
“Uncannily.”
“In looks alone, if you’re lucky,” Deacon added in a soft aside.
“Chris, why don’t you take William here and show him those kittens? He can help you pick one out. Then it’ll be up to your mama to say yes or no.” He grinned, knowing Starla would deny the boy nothing. “If that’s all right with you, ma’am.”
The two boys eyed each other for a moment, then Christien decided for them both. “C’mon, Willy. One of ’em’s got seven toes.”
“Seven toes?” That was all it took to coax William from his shyness. He jumped down, then paused, looking hopefully to his mother.
“Don’t catch cold,” she warned. “And don’t overtire yourself.”
The boy was already racing to the door when he promised, “I won’t, Mama.”
Dodge stood. “Let’s go look at some storefront property, shall we?”
The first place they went all agreed was unsuitable: too small, no room for expansion. The second was next to the livery on the far end of town: too far from the flow of commerce and too close to the smell of manure. The third was a soon-to-be-abandoned building originally constructed with the traditional two-storied square front of a mercantile. Deacon remembered the storekeeper, a Jewish immigrant named Rosen. He’d begun his trade from a humble peddler’s pack, traversing the muddy roads at first on foot, then in a one-horse wagon to reach potential customers. Deacon recalled the excitement of gathering around as the strange little man with his funny accent who unlaced the awning-striped cover of his pack, opening a tantalizing world to them with a flourish. Out came the rush of scents: soaps, leather goods, cheap perfume, sachets and spices. How they looked forward to his visits until the day he’d earned enough to put his sway-backed horse out to pasture with the opening of his own store.
The Men of Pride County: The Pretender Page 11