Destiny Unleashed

by Sherryl Woods

  William had been shocked and more than a little dismayed. “If that’s so, then I’m sorry for you both,” he’d told his father. “But I can’t live that way.”

  “I’ll cut you off,” his father had threatened.

  “Do whatever you feel is necessary,” William told him. “I’ll manage.”

  “How? Will you live on this woman’s charity?”

  “Absolutely not,” William replied fiercely. “I’m not without contacts and resources of my own.”

  “Then I suggest you make use of them,” his father had declared bitterly, clearly infuriated with William’s refusal to comply with his wishes. It was a power struggle they’d been engaged in for years.

  “You’ll not get another tuppence from me,” he warned.

  “As you wish,” William said quietly.

  Despite his calm tone, William had been shaking with outrage when he’d hung up. He’d turned and found Destiny watching him, worry etched on her brow.

  “Oh, William, you can’t cut yourself off from your family like that,” she said sorrowfully. “It’s wrong. I won’t be responsible for it.”

  “You’ve cut yourself off from your family,” he reminded her.

  “Not like that. Not forever.”

  “Darling, don’t worry. We’ll mend fences eventually,” he assured her. “It’s not the first time we’ve fought. Nor is it likely to be the last. For a stuffy pair, Father and I can be quite volatile from time to time.” He changed the subject, refusing to dwell on the bitter exchange. “Now, what shall we do to celebrate your birthday? Do you want a party? A trip to Paris?”

  “I don’t need anything,” Destiny said.

  William frowned at her. “Is that because you think you’ve just cost me all my money?”

  “Well, haven’t I?”

  “Hardly. But even if you had, I’d find a way to make your birthday special.”

  “But I really don’t need anything,” she repeated. “Just you.”

  “That you have, always,” he promised her.

  She smiled at him, but there was no mistaking the worry shadowing her eyes. She was afraid for him, afraid of the price he was paying to be with her. He could see that she feared one day he’d wind up resenting her, but that would never happen, not when she was the best thing to ever come into his life.

  That afternoon, when the hot summer sun was beating down and Destiny was napping in the shade in the garden, he slipped into town and used the phone at their favorite restaurant to make arrangements for a surprise party the following night. Nearly everyone in the small village was invited, invitations spreading by word of mouth after those first few strategic calls.

  When he’d made all the arrangements, he went shopping for something that would prove to Destiny how much he loved her. It wasn’t easy finding something in such a small town, but it seemed everyone he spoke with had a suggestion. Destiny had made herself a vital part of this community during her time here, and they all loved her as much as he did.

  Nothing he came across seemed exactly right. Not the jewelry. Not the glamorous beachwear. Her studio was already stuffed with books. The counters overflowed with art supplies. She was not the sort of woman who prized material possessions, anyway. Her life was built around her painting, her friends and him, and made more enjoyable by simple, delicious food and good wine.

  He finally returned to the little café where the party was to be held and sat at one of the outside tables.

  “No purchases?” François asked, regarding him worriedly.

  William shook his head dejectedly.

  “She is a woman who requires something from the heart, something lasting,” François said.

  William agreed. “But what?”

  “Perhaps I should not speak so plainly, but is money an issue?”

  “No.” William had enough to manage something extravagant in spite of his father’s threats.

  “You know she has been teaching art classes for the children here, n’est-ce pas?”

  William nodded.

  “There is not sufficient room in her studio for all who want to attend. It seems everyone who adores Mademoiselle Destiny would like to be an artist now. Not that so many have talent, but a few do, and even the others enjoy themselves. All over town there are paintings by her students decorating kitchen walls.”

  William chuckled. He’d seen many of them. “What are you suggesting, François?”

  “A small school, perhaps, with another room as a gallery. I know it is extravagant, but I know someone who has just such a place. Because of their love for Destiny, the cost wouldn’t be too great, I think. And the size would be just right.”

  “A Destiny Carlton School and Gallery,” William murmured, intrigued. It would be perfect. It would be something lasting, as enduring as his feelings for her, a reassurance that his life was here with her.

  “Can you contact this man? I’d like to see him at once.”

  “I can have him here in a few moments,” François assured him. “He will show you the property and you can decide.” He frowned. “It is not too much? I have not overstepped?”

  “No, you’re a genius,” William assured him.

  For a village that tended to thrive on a leisurely pace, things had moved with astonishing speed after that. He saw the property, closed the deal and had an entire team of willing workers paint the faded exterior by the following afternoon. A simple sign was created by the most talented of Destiny’s students.

  That evening the entire village was jittery with anticipation. When William and Destiny arrived at the café, she was stunned by the sight of so many people there to celebrate her birthday. She turned to him with shining eyes.

  “You did all this for me? I told you I didn’t need anything.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t need it,” William told her. “But I needed to give it to you. And everyone wanted to share in the occasion.”

  For two hours in the waning sunlight, they ate and drank wine with their friends. There was plenty of laughter and lively conversation and even a bit of dancing. Destiny sat back with a sigh.

  “It’s been an absolutely perfect evening.”

  “It’s not quite over,” William said as everyone watched them with barely suppressed excitement. “Let’s go for a walk. There’s something else.”

  “Something else? I thought the party was my present.”

  “Just the beginning,” William told her. He held out his hand. “Come along.”

  “But we can’t leave our guests,” she protested.

  He laughed. “They’ll be coming, too. I doubt we could keep them away.”

  It was only a few blocks to the new school, and they turned the walk into a joyous parade. When they were almost there, he told her, “Close your eyes.”

  “So I can trip and break my neck?”

  “No, so I can save the surprise till the very last second.”

  She trustingly tucked her hand in his and let him lead the way.

  “Now,” he said at last, when he was sure the angle was just right for viewing the building with the last of the orange sunset’s glow falling on the newly whitewashed stucco walls.

  He held his breath as Destiny slowly opened her eyes. At first, she seemed merely puzzled, but then her gaze fell on the sign.

  “A school?” she whispered. “You’ve bought me an art school?”

  “And a gallery, for your work and for your students’.”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears as she turned to the others who were waiting for her reaction. “And you knew? You were all in on it?”

  “But it was Monsieur William who did it,” they told her. “It is his gift.”

  William studied her intently. “Do you like it? I wanted you to know how much I respect your talent, how much I want to be a part of this place with you.”

  “Oh, William,” she said, then burst into tears.

  Panic spread through him. “You hate it, don’t you? It’s all wrong.”

  “
No, no, it’s the sweetest, most generous gift anyone has ever given me. I just can’t believe you would do such a thing, not when you’ve just…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Just been disinherited?” he asked wryly. “Darling, I told you that didn’t matter. Not compared to you. Nothing compares to you.”

  And it hadn’t. Not then. Not ever again, William thought as he wandered the boutiques of London looking yet again for the perfect gift for Destiny.

  He was counting on quite a lot from this gift, as well. It needed to remind her of the past, yet promise the future. He supposed another building was out of the question. He hated to repeat himself.

  Besides, she would quite likely throw the deed back in his face at this point.

  No, this needed to be something smaller, something more personal, an everyday reminder of him that she couldn’t easily ignore.

  It was late and he was beginning to despair when he finally spotted it in a shop window. He smiled the instant he saw it.

  Five minutes later it was tucked in his pocket, and he was thinking ahead to Christmas Day. It was the first time in years he’d actually looked forward to the holiday, the first time in ages he’d had someone special he wanted to impress.

  Of course, it was also the first time ever that a woman was likely to regard his offering with suspicion and distrust. But perhaps, just perhaps, it would create a tiny chink in Destiny’s armor, a hole large enough for him to steal back into her heart.

  “Don’t blow a gasket,” Ben announced when he strolled into Richard’s office two days before Christmas and tossed several newspapers onto his desk.

  Richard moaned. If his laid-back baby brother was already warning him not to get upset, then whatever was in those papers was going to set his teeth on edge. And it obviously had to do with Destiny, who’d been amazingly adept at ducking his calls in recent days. Since he’d instructed Chester never to tattle on her again and since her personal secretary was as tight-lipped as anyone on earth, there was no one in London he could call to ask what she was up to. Maybe his brother had the answers he’d been seeking.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Take a look at the papers and see for yourself,” Ben suggested.

  “Maybe you’d better just tell me. Use Destiny’s favorite tactic and sugarcoat it.”

  Ben grinned. “Can’t be done this time. It’s all there in black and white. She’s obviously taken this assignment to heart. She’s going after Harcourt with a vengeance.”

  Richard gave the papers a wary glance. “Oh, God, not in the media. Please tell me she is not attacking him in the London press.”

  “Not the way you mean,” Ben reassured him. “She’s got more class than that. And this is definitely all about business.”

  Richard reached gingerly for the first paper and spread it open on his desk. It didn’t take long to find the full-page ad heralding the opening salvo from Harcourt, a slashing of prices on bestsellers.

  “I suppose it could have been worse,” he muttered. “I’d expected something like this. I knew he wouldn’t take our acquisition of Jameson’s lying down. If that little store turns out to be a nuisance or a distraction, we can get rid of it.”

  “Then you’ll be happy to know that Destiny’s not sitting back and taking it lying down, either,” Ben said cheerfully.

  Richard opened the second London paper and found the full-page ad for Jameson’s, “Now offering tea in elegant surroundings while you browse.”

  “She’s gone after his tea business,” he said weakly. “That’s the heart and soul of his company, aside from books. He’ll bury us. What was she thinking? She’s only tossing fuel on the fire.”

  “I imagine she was thinking that she couldn’t let him get the better of her,” Ben suggested. “You have to admire her gumption. She’s a lot like you in that regard. She doesn’t like anyone getting the better of her.”

  “You admire her,” Richard said grimly. “I’m going over there to strangle her.”

  “No, you’re not,” Ben said fiercely. “You gave her this assignment—”

  Richard cut him off. “Unwillingly,” he reminded his brother.

  “Nevertheless, Destiny’s there and she’s in charge. You can’t second-guess her at every turn.”

  “I most certainly can,” Richard said, then sighed. Ben was right. Even if she weren’t his aunt, he couldn’t do that to her. It would destroy company morale, undermine her and give Harcourt way too much satisfaction. He had to let this play itself out.

  “I need a drink,” he told his brother.

  “Let’s go,” Ben said at once. “But I promised Melanie I’d have you home in time for dinner.”

  “You saw her before coming here?”

  “Who did you think gave me the London papers?”

  “Why the hell didn’t she give them to me herself?” Richard grumbled.

  “I believe that was in the interest of marital harmony. She doesn’t care if you shoot the messenger as long as it’s me.”

  “Am I that predictable?” Richard asked.

  “And then some,” Ben told him. “But we love you, anyway.”

  Richard sighed. It wasn’t much comfort.

  On Christmas Eve Destiny stayed on at the office long after everyone else had gone home to celebrate the start of the holidays with their families. Even Chester had taken off to visit friends in Devon for a week, and Miriam had flown back home to see her son after assuring herself that Destiny would be all right on her own.

  And she was. She was alone with her sales reports, eager to see how her strategy had paid off.

  The figures weren’t bad. Sales were definitely up over a year ago, even without today’s last-minute purchases figured in. The tea strategy had worked. The manager at Jameson’s told her that the customers were anxious that the experiment continue after the New Year and perhaps be expanded to include some sort of food service, as well.

  “And newspapers for the customers to read, while they linger over tea,” Jillian had suggested. “It will be a place for people who love books to gather and to meet one another. I think we’ll do a brisk trade with single young professionals who don’t like hanging about in pubs. I’ve been thinking of a series of events, as well. We could do author signings, but I’d like to offer more than that—speakers, perhaps.”

  Destiny had promised to consider the idea and to discuss it further after the holidays. She would have to move cautiously. As Chester had reminded her, Jameson’s was a new acquisition and a relatively unimportant one. She couldn’t devote too many resources to it, even if its competition with H&S Books did make it more valuable in her mind. There were a dozen other fires that needed to be put out to get the European division onto solid ground, and she needed to start paying attention to them. She’d asked for reports from all of her key managers and anticipated that they would make dull reading for quiet holiday afternoons. The stack had been sent over by courier this morning and was awaiting her in her apartment.

  In the meantime, though, not every hour of the week that stretched ahead of her needed to be devoted to work. She intended to use at least some of that free time to refurnish her dreadful apartment and make it her own. Browsing for a few paintings and a new sofa would fill some of the empty hours. Once the Christmas decorations came down, she wanted the dreary fabrics replaced by bright chintz and airy draperies that would let in the rare London sunlight.

  She’d heard nothing from William since they’d had breakfast. He was probably somewhere licking his wounds. Or perhaps off visiting some country estate with a houseful of friends. She tried not to be envious, but she couldn’t deny that a part of her wished she’d had time to acquire her own circle of friends here.

  That would come, though, she told herself briskly, impatient with herself for displaying so much as a hint of self-pity given the richness of her life.

  Tonight she would have a lovely dinner, a glass or two of an excellent Bordeaux, then sit quietly in front of the fire and savo
r this time on her own. Tomorrow there would be calls home and presents to open, followed by an excellent holiday feast already delivered by the same caterer who’d done her party. And there were stacks of new books she’d been dying to read. She would be alone, but not lonely.

  It had been a long time since she’d been so completely and totally on her own. Since before she’d met William, in fact, and even then she’d been surrounded by friends in Provence, an eclectic mix of visiting artists and writers, as well as the locals who’d befriended her.

  Back then, if she’d faced the prospect of more than a few days alone, she would have packed her bags and taken off for some livelier setting, sometimes Paris, sometimes London or even the casinos of Monte Carlo. She’d been a gadabout with few responsibilities and boundless energy. There was always a house party somewhere where she would be welcome.

  Once William had come along, though, she’d settled into a kind of domestic bliss. They’d seldom traveled except to Paris, content to spend their days with long walks, companionable meals, an occasional concert and impromptu gatherings of friends. He’d filled not only her heart, but every waking hour of her day.

  For a time, she’d thought of what they had as an informal marriage. Perhaps if they’d ever formalized it and taken the vows, they wouldn’t have been so quick to throw it all away when the tragedy back home had struck.

  Ah, well, water long since under the bridge, she concluded. There was no point in dawdling in her office on Christmas Eve, wondering if they could have changed what happened.

  She gathered up her things, wrapped herself snugly in her cashmere coat and bright red muffler, then struck out for home, hoping the walk would chase away the last of her ridiculous blues.

  The night was clear with stars shining and a waning slip of a moon. The air was crisp and invigorating, rather than damp, as she joined a parade of weary last-minute shoppers, laden down with packages.

  Seeing them, she imagined the frantic rush back home, where none of her nephews ever gave a thought to presents until the last possible second. They were probably desperately fighting their way through the crowded aisles of Alexandria’s boutiques at this very moment. Later they’d be haphazardly slapping paper, tape, tags and ribbon on the purchases, which despite being bought in haste, were always exactly right.