CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
William
He avoided her as they entered the mansion, refusing to meet her questioning gaze and keeping the paper firmly tucked beneath his arm. They had to find a moment. Alone. Together. So he could break this to her as gently as possible.
“We are to meet the baroness at six here, dressed for the evening concert,” he called to the group. “Have a good afternoon of rest. If any of you have need of me, I shall be taking my leisure in the mansion’s library.”
Cora’s eyes flashed, meeting his. She had understood. Above her, Mr. Kensington and Mr. Morgan were already climbing the stairs, apparently more than eager to take their rest, with the others following behind, Cora beside Lil. Given a measure of luck, no one but Cora would come to the library. A word, Lord. A moment, he begged silently. But deep within, he hoped for much more.
She arrived an hour later. He was up on the second level of the magnificent library, in one of several small alcoves not fully visible from the areas below. He was pretending to linger over a section of books about ancient Greece when he sensed her arrival. He looked over his shoulder and saw Antonio scan the library, spot him above, and then take his position by the door. Cora brushed past him and saw Will then too and immediately went to the mahogany ladder, climbing up to him.
“You on the hunt for a tome about ancient Greece too?” he said, in case anyone was coming in after her.
“Perhaps,” she said, with a small smile. He slipped his hand around hers and pulled her around the corner, into the alcove, away from Antonio’s eyes.
They stood there for a moment, tentative and awkward, each knowing there was too much to say and not enough time. But there was one thing he had to know.
“Have you given in, then, Cora? To him?” Will asked, his tone laced with pain.
“No, Will,” she said, sorrow in her blue eyes. “Pierre…he’s lovely. But he’s not the one my heart wants.”
His heart leaped. They stared at each other as if to memorize each other’s face. It had been so long. So long since they’d had a moment alone. “Cora,” he breathed, daring to pull her close.
“Will,” she whispered back, her face inches away, inviting him in.
After a long, searching kiss, he pulled away with a groan, knowing that if they were discovered, everything would become much more complicated. “What are we going to do?” he asked, every word an ache.
“My father insists I accept Pierre’s bid to court me,” she said, taking a step away as if guilty. He held her hand, stubbornly refusing to release it. “And if I don’t, I’m afraid my father will figure out that you are the cause of my resistance.”
“Cora. I so wish to speak to him about my own desire to court you.”
“You mustn’t!” she said, her eyes widening. “If he finds out about you and me…”
“He won’t,” Will said, pulling her close. “Not yet anyway. Not until he can’t hurt either of us. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“I do, though,” she said, taking his other hand. “I do. Pierre already guessed that it is you who holds my heart from him. How long until he tells my father? Or how long until Wallace sees it himself, traveling with us?”
“We only need to take increased care.” But the fact that she’d told Richelieu of him, of her true feelings, made his heart soar, even as a dark cloud of fear entered in.
Her eyes echoed what her words had said—by some miracle, it was he who still held her heart.
“Cora, there’s more we must speak about….” He turned away from her to lift the folded paper from the alcove table, then slowly turned back, knowing that what was to come would hurt her deeply.
“What is it?” she asked, sounding a bit faint. As if she knew already.
“They discovered copper, Cora. And gold, too. In Dunnigan. Your father’s wealth shall quadruple with the stores they figure are in the rock below.”
Her lush lips parted, and air came out in a whoosh. He grabbed hold of her arm and turned to sit her in a chair before she fainted. “Cora, breathe. Breathe,” he said, taking a knee and stroking her arm, then holding one of her hands between both of his, against his chest.
Her eyes were flicking back and forth, as if she were trying to make sense of it.
“He didn’t,” she muttered. “He couldn’t have…he wouldn’t….” Then her gaze stilled, suddenly, staring straight ahead. She lifted her chin and rose. “I have to go see him. Now.”
“No, Cora. Consider the consequences.”
She ignored him. Simply picked up the paper and made her way down the narrow ladder as if she’d completely forgotten he was there.
He groaned in frustration and followed her down the ladder and out the door, Antonio beside him.
“What is it?” Antonio whispered.
“Disaster,” Will said.
She scurried up the stairs and down the hall, directly to her father’s suite, where she paused, squared her shoulders, and then knocked on the door. A footman answered it, gave her a small bow, then turned to announce her. Will followed behind, not waiting for an invitation, leaving Antonio to guard the door.
Mr. Kensington was sitting in one of two large wing-backed chairs by the window, his welcoming smile quickly fading when he saw Cora’s frown. His eyes moved to Will, as if seeking an explanation, but Cora held the paper in front of him, the article visible on the top. “Explain this to me, Mr. Kensington.”
Wallace gestured to the footman to leave them in privacy, and the man did so at once, quietly closing the door behind him. He then glanced at Will, but Cora interceded. “No, I want him here.” She shook the folded paper in her hand again. “Tell me. Tell me I simply do not know enough German to properly translate this.”
The gray-haired man took the paper from her and scanned the article a moment, then tossed it to the table. “It’s true. I was going to tell you, but the drama of late has kept our attention on other topics.”
Her lips parted in astonishment. “Wh-what? How…how could you do such a thing?”
“What? Turn a plot of dirt into a profitable mine?” His hands spread apart. “It’s what I do!”
“By taking advantage of your own daughter?” Cora asked. “And the people who reared her for you?”
The older man’s eyes moved in agitation to Will and then back to Cora, as if he didn’t appreciate being called to account, especially in front of another. “Perhaps we should speak of this in private,” he said.
“No,” she said, more riled up than Will had ever seen her. “He stays. He is my friend, my guardian,” she said, leaning slightly toward her father. “A role you don’t seem to understand.”
“Cora,” Wallace said with a sigh, gesturing toward the other chair. “Sit down.”
“No, thank you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Simply explain it to me. Please.”
“Cora,” he said again, leaning back, his elbows on either arm of the chair, and steepling his fingers. “Sit down.” He stared back at her, his blue eyes brooking no argument. “I refuse to have this conversation unless we do so in a civil manner. What would your mother say?”
“How dare you mention my mother at a time like this!”
“Cora.” He kept his tone low.
Finally, Cora lifted her chin and demurely sat down on the edge of the chair, as if she intended to remain there for the shortest possible time. “You stole that property out from under my papa, knowing all along what it was worth.”
He studied her face. “Is that what you think of me?”
She shifted in her seat, the movement so small Will almost missed it. But something told him Wallace Kensington had not. “You are well known as a ruthless businessman,” Cora said. “You saw an opportunity. You took it. No matter who it harmed.”
“I delivered your parents from a property that was bleeding them dry. When I arrived, your papa was at death’s door. You know him, Cora. If he had spent another week on that farm, it would’ve killed him. He would have rallie
d, risen, and died walking those fields, trying to coax something of a harvest out of that wretched, drought-ridden soil. He’s stubborn. Determined.”
“Almost as stubborn and determined as you.”
“Almost,” Mr. Kensington allowed, locking eyes with her.
“So you waited until he was too weak to fight you. Until we were all too weak to fight you.”
“I know it must seem that way to you.”
“How else could it seem?” she said, letting out a little laugh and shaking her head. “In short order you had my folks on a train to Minnesota—”
“Where they have found health, peace.”
“And me on a train to the lake—”
“Where you began the grandest chapter of your life.”
“And the title to my father’s farm—my grandfather’s land—was in your hand.”
Wallace clamped his lips shut, waiting her out.
“Did you ever truly want me?” she asked. “To be a part of your family? Or have I endured all this—made my siblings endure all this—so that you could get me off the property too? So you could become twice as wealthy?”
“It isn’t as it seems, Cora….”
“Isn’t it?” she asked, rising, her voice rising too. She was clearly close to tears. “Here we are in Vienna. While your men drill into the ridge my papa walked for years. For years.”
Wallace’s nostrils flared. “He was a farmer! He would’ve never dug into that ridge, Cora. You know as well as I that he would’ve stayed married to the soil, never looking beyond it.” He took a deep breath, splaying his hands. “Alan’s a good man, true and faithful. But he has no vision, nor did he have the means to do anything else to—”
“Stop. Stop it.” She lifted her hand to him, shaking her head. “You may not steal from an ill man and then speak poorly of him. You may not!”
“I did not steal from him! I made something from nothing. All in an effort to—”
“How can you say that?” she asked, furious tears streaming down her face. “He was barely well enough to sign his name to that title. And you asked him to do so, knowing all along what was under that rock. Did you not?” She paused, searching his face. “Did you not?” she repeated.
He looked at her, and for the first time, Will glimpsed helplessness in the older man.
She let out a scoffing laugh and shook her head again. “I am sending Pierre home. I will not lead him on so that you can add to your despicable kingdom of wealth!”
“No. You are not,” he said, rising.
“I am. I care for him, but I do not love him. And unlike you, I do not use people to get something from them.”
He stared at her. “You already told Pierre that he does not hold your heart.”
She raised her head in surprise.
“Yes, he told me,” Wallace said. “But you may not send him home. It is up to him, what he does with your words. And he chooses to try to convince you of your folly. It is my desire you give him the chance to do so.”
Will dug his fingers into his palms as he forced himself to stay silent.
“Pierre has always gotten what he went after,” Cora said. “Just as you have. But that doesn’t mean he gets me.”
“You will allow his attempt to win you, at the very least.”
“No. I won’t.”
“You will. Or we shall end this little tour, and the entire clan shall be heading home to Montana. And our deal to send you to school? It shall be null and void, since you did not complete the tour….” He looked to the window, every movement speaking of weariness. “I should probably do that anyway…end it,” he muttered. “Before you or the rest are in any further danger. But this deal with Richelieu is more important than you realize.” He looked at her, appearing ten years older than he had a moment before.
Her mouth dropped open, and she wiped furiously at her tears. “You would hold even my sisters and brother against me? Threaten to turn them against me by ending the tour early?”
“Only because you’ve left me no choice, Cora. It is the only way I see to stop you from making a decision that will harm the whole family, including you.”
“You are…” she said, so softly that Will barely heard her, “reprehensible.” And with that, she turned and rushed out of the room.
Mr. Kensington heaved a sigh, turning to the window, hands on the end of his cane like a crutch, then looked over his shoulder at Will. “Well, go after her, young man! Make certain she is all right. And see that you get her to see my side of this.”
Will needed no further encouragement. He ran after her and, pausing, heard her sobbing somewhere close. He walked down the hall and found her in an empty room. He knocked softly, letting himself in, and then closed the door behind him. She was leaning over a desk, her torso shaking with her sobs. The sound of it threatened to break Will’s heart.
“Cora,” he said, coming beside her.
She turned to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Will,” she said, crying and crying.
He held her, stroking her back, her hair, until her tears were spent. Then he led her to a chair, sat her down in it, and passed her his handkerchief. He knelt beside her, his hand on her knee. Waiting. Ready to do anything at all he could to alleviate the pain. “I’m sorry, Cora. I know this is difficult to bear.”
She shook her head, blowing her nose into the handkerchief. “Don’t you see? He’s getting exactly what he wants! I am but a pawn in his game!”
“I know it appears as such but—”
“Are you…” she said, her brow furrowing. “Are you taking his side?”
“I’m only saying that perhaps you ought to—”
“What? Do everything he says? Don’t tell me you fear him too. Oh, wait. You do. You’re just as much a pawn as I.”
Will drew back, stung by her words.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “I am not myself.”
“No,” he said, rising slowly. “You’re not.”
She came to her feet too and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, Will, so sorry. I’m all twisted inside. Confused.”
Will put one hand to her back, and one to his head. “As am I.”
“I don’t know which end is up.”
“That, I understand,” he said. He gazed down at her, waiting for her to look up, and when she did, the jagged end of his anger melted.
“We can get through this, right?” she sobbed. “Somehow? Some way?”
“Somehow. Some way,” he promised.
But deep down, his heart sank. Because he had no earthly idea how.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
William
With their female clients all in their own quarters and their young male clients watched over by Yves and Claude, Will wandered out to the garden that night after the concert, attempting to sort out his thoughts. He again battled the urge to tell Mr. Kensington of his feelings, his desire to court Cora. But the threat of the tour ending early, and perhaps not receiving the promised bonus—his only hope of paying his uncle’s bills and returning to university in the fall—bound him as surely as if he were gagged and tied to a chair. What have I to offer her anyway? He had no apartment to return to; the bank had probably claimed it by now. If he professed his love and Antonio was right—if Kensington, in a rage, blocked him at every angle—how could he even support them? His only option was to continue as a bear, escorting Grand Tourists. But the memory of her on Richelieu’s arm was enough to turn him inside out.
Will spied him, then, as if summoned by whispers of his innermost thoughts. Richelieu wound past the hedge of fat, fragrant roses and sat down on a bench across the path from him. Will nodded in greeting but could not summon the strength to form a word. Richelieu was a good man. Kind. Truly, he could not come up with a decent reason for Cora to turn him away, other than one.
He loved her and wanted her for himself.
“Let her go, man,” Richelieu sa
id, looking up at him, his hands gripping either side of him. His tone was not unkind. “She’s better off with me. We both know it.”
Will studied him, only the ridge of his brow and nose and chin visible in the moonlight. He pretended confusion. “I’m sorry?”
Richelieu sighed and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “There is no need to feign ignorance,” he said gently. “I know the truth of it. I do not fear the fact that she cares for you. Because she cares for me, too.”
Will mirrored his stance, leaning forward too. “Does she?”
Richelieu paused a moment. “Perhaps I’m deluding myself. The ways of women are somewhat of a mystery, are they not? All I ask is that you give her some distance to sort out her truest feelings.”
“I am hardly in a position to pursue her. If only I had the luxury of such a convenience…” he said, failing to keep the bitterness from his tone.
Richelieu let out a scoffing laugh. “You do not even recognize your own advantage. Close to her, every day, from morn to night. Sharing new experiences and seeing new vistas together.” He shook his head and threw out his splayed hands. “Add to that the allure of a forbidden affair—when her father, currently suffering her renewed disfavor, has explicitly asked her to entertain my affections…. No. It is up to you, Will. If she is meant to be with you, she will continue to resist my pursuit. But if she is meant to be with me, if you allow her some distance—of the heart, even though you are in such close physical proximity—she might see me with new eyes. Might you not allow her the grace to choose between us?”
Will stared at him, thinking through what he was saying. Was it fair to tie Cora to him, when it seemed so completely hopeless? Truly, he could not see a way for them. Not until the tour was over and both were home and free of Wallace Kensington’s power—if there would ever be such a time—and he was free of Stuart’s debts.
Wasn’t true love able to weather all?
And yet wasn’t true love also unselfish? Wanting only the best for the other person?
Richelieu seemed to sense his internal shift. “So you’ll allow it, then. A bit of distance. Both of us will soon find out about Cora’s truest feelings.”
Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) Page 25