"Burnett?" The name was familiar.
"Mmm. John? John Arden? Tall, jovial chap. You met him last month at our house in London. Perhaps at my father’s funeral too.”
Killian eyed the black band on Julian’s sleeve, the one indication of his mourning period for his deceased father.
"Yes. The one who wanted the Winterhalter portrait of his mother?" The man had desired only one item from the estate of Julian's father, the previous duke of Seton. When that man died in June, his will granted the valuable painting to his nephew, the baron.
"Yes. To hang in his well-appointed twelfth century castle."
"I vaguely recall him." He tucked away the information for future reference.
"His mother was friends with Liv's mother, I do believe." Julian took a bite of his poached egg. "I did understand she got a very small widow's portion when her husband died. His house, land, goods were all entailed. Went to his relative, next in line. You know how that goes."
"I do." Killian had concluded she lived modestly. She had told him her husband had passed away six years ago. When he'd accompanied her home last night, he'd assessed the Parisian hotel she stayed in while here. The Hotel Saint-Germaine was respectable, clean, quiet, middle class. What she could afford, then. Whether business called or not, she'd told him as they parted last night that she planned to return to London today after she finished her appointment on the outskirts of Paris at the Sèvres factory.
Killian had tried to persuade her to remain in Paris, but she refused. Then he'd pressed her to promise to allow him to call on her in London.
"I must think it over," she'd said and he couldn't get her to relent.
He'd circled his arms around her in his carriage. Tipping up her chin, he'd said, "You might need more kisses."
The pained expression on her face had been one of pure torture. But she'd said, "Good night, Killian."
And what he heard was, Good bye.
Panic raced through him. He wanted to argue, negotiate. But he didn’t.
Delicacy was the better approach. He'd ask about. Find her home. Her business. Attraction such as they shared was no passing fancy. No infatuation.
He lifted his coffee cup and drank, eager to change the subject to a more positive one. He wanted more information about his daughter's health and her new revelations. "You seem well rested. Sleep well? Both of you?"
"That we did. Rather, Lily did." The grin on Julian's face could not have been more jolly as he paused to reflect on his pending parenthood. "Thank god. As for me, I sat watching her most of the night. Thinking. Money. Estate. The future."
Killian arched a brow at him. "You'll be fine. Everyone is. One grows into fatherhood. But I must say, I’m surprised Lily only just realized her condition once she heard Marianne speak of hers."
"I agree. Lily is so knowledgeable about physical conditions and maladies. You'd think she'd be constantly aware of how she feels. But what can I say? I know my tenants benefit from her care." He paused to stare at Killian. "I suppose not all women have sickness in the morning. Lily hasn't. Though she has complained lately of fatigue."
"You won't let her overdo herself now, I hope."
Julian shook his head. "She'll stay in bed, if that's what suits her. I don't want her traipsing about the tenants' cottages, either. I'll get Lily to hire a proper nurse for the estate. Lily can train her to her satisfaction. We'll pay her well and she can go down and treat them."
"A fine idea," Killian said.
"Lily's, really. When she was so tired last week, she suggested it. I liked the idea then. I love it now." He picked up his coffee cup and drank. "I hope you don't mind if we stay a few days."
"Absolutely not. Remain as long as you like."
"Good. The train was fine, but she wasn't keen on the speed. Looked a little green, actually. I should have thought of all this then."
"Don't criticize yourself, Julian. We men don't tend to think of our wives getting pregnant, until they are and then we fall all over ourselves ensuring their safety and their comfort."
"I'm going to insist she do less," Julian said.
"A good idea." Killian had loved pampering his Aileen when she'd been with child. Four times she'd blossomed, queasy only in the first few months. Never a problem delivering until that last one in 'sixty-five when she and the baby died of a prolonged and agonizing labor. After she'd gone, he scoured his memory for any little comfort he might have missed giving her. His grief was a ravenous animal that had eaten him alive for more years than he cared to count. No woman had meant as much to him since her passing. Lust was a shallow thrill, minutes long. Desire, though, was an emotion he'd long forgotten. Olivia Bereston awakened it in him. He welcomed the joy in it, even if he was shocked that at his age he might feel the buoyancy. Infatuation was more the word for her lure for him.
"What do you think? Killian?"
He faced his son-in-law. He had Liv on his brain. "I'm sorry. What did you ask?"
"What to do for a woman who is carrying a child? What do you recommend? I'd ask my mother but you know that relationship was never worth a farthing."
"Ah. Yes. Well. Lots of rest. She should eat whatever she wishes. No riding a horse. Any idea how far along her pregnancy might be?"
"Dear god." Julian stared at him with a wrinkled brow. "I didn't ask her what she estimates. She wasn't in the mood to talk at all last night. She's still surprised. So I can't say what a date would be. I mean, well...hmmm...she might have conceived right after we were married in June, but then that would make her..."
"Four months along," Pierce strolled in and grinned at Julian. "She wouldn't still be nauseous. Or would she?" He glanced at his father.
"I don't think so. Women react differently during their term. My wife was a shrew for the first child, sick as a puppy for the first months of the second, and fit as one of my Baltimore dock hands during the third. But you're the best judge of timing, Julian."
"Quite so," he said, lost in thought.
"There was that journey Lily took to Ireland in August," Pierce reminded them as he picked up tongs to select his breakfast sausage. His tone was all too casual, as the family did not speak of that period when Lily had left her husband. "So?"
"Yes," said Julian slowly. "Ireland."
How long had Lily been away from her new husband? Killian still had no idea and didn't wish to embarrass his son-in-law by bringing up what was a delicate subject. His daughter had left her new husband two months after their wedding and without notice, traveled to Ireland. Killian had not asked all the details. Many of them were none of his business and while he could be a demanding bugger, he would not meddle in his children's marriages. Or anyone's. That led to catastrophe.
Julian frowned at his plate. "She might be three months along...or more than one."
"Ask her later today when she feels up to talking. She should be able to count the months she missed."
"Oh, right. Of course." Julian went back to his breakfast.
Pierce took a seat next to his father, but focused on Julian. "How is Elanna?"
Killian inhaled. He didn't care for Pierce's continued interest in Julian's sister. The twenty-year-old young woman had married a much older man, the earl of Carbury, three weeks after Lily and Julian had wed. A beauty with rosewood brown hair and hazel eyes, she was a spitfire too, who had turned like day to night upon the occasion of her betrothal. At the same time, Carbury, too, had become more taciturn and more sinister. When Julian's father, the previous duke of Seton, had suffered a stroke during the wedding breakfast and died in the parlor, Elanna and Carbury had left immediately after the burial. Carbury, demanding and secretive, had insisted that he take his bride on a wedding journey. She had not argued, but in fact, sneered at her mother, the dowager duchess, and happily made a path to the front door and the Carbury carriage. Elanna had raged like a child at her fate. And for some unfathomable reason, Pierce was attracted to her.
Killian had always been proud of the fact that his
son was wise in the matter of women. Pierce was twenty-six, a shrewd businessman, two inches taller than Killian, fit, handsome as hell with raven hair and tender dove grey eyes. He had no mistress. Never had. If he'd taken women for a night or more, he didn't keep them longer. Wise in that, he was also selective in the young women he paid any court to. None at home in Baltimore, New York or Boston had caught his eye. He never spoke of any of them, never sought any information about them. Not as he did Julian's sister.
That worried Killian. Greatly. Elanna was a gently reared lady, daughter of a duke, now sister to one. Worthy, or so would say the aristocrats, to marry an earl. And she had. Everyone knew she'd married because the duchy was nigh unto bankrupt. All the Hannifords knew this because the marriage negotiations for Lily's dowry and annual income had been a nasty battle. But after her betrothal, Elanna had turned bitter. Resentful that she'd been turned out, forced to marry a man she disliked. And that put it mildly. She'd come to hate her status so much and begun to hate her husband so intently, that she was lost to herself. Resentful, angry and outrageously self-centered, she'd become a harpy. Few wanted to be near her. She sequestered herself at home in the countryside. There, according to letters Lily wrote to him, Elanna spent lavish sums on new gowns, furniture and a massive glass hot house conservatory. She also drank to excess and smoked tobacco.
Julian looked morose. "She's not well. Still belligerent to me. Does not receive my mother. But then, I don't either, so that's no problem there for me. I have received Carbury once. Last week."
"Oh?" Pierce took a bite of bacon, his grey eyes sharp as daggers. "What did the old bastard want?"
"Asked me to invite the two of them to dinner."
"Why?"
"She won't speak to him. He's worried."
Pierce picked up his coffee cup and drank.
Killian watched him. Pierce clenched his jaw, his face so yearning, his anger so raw he grew red in the face.
Julian put down his fork and knife. "I might as well tell you. Lily knows. Elanna is expecting."
Pierce blanched. "The bastard."
Julian winced. "Carbury called the doctor when she had a screaming fit two weeks ago and fainted."
Pierce's cup hit the saucer with a crack. "Christ. He torments her."
Killian knew from watching the Carburys together that that could be true. Carbury had a way of putting himself in front of Elanna at every turn. He interrupted her conversations to correct her. He advised her on her attire. She would sneer at him or laugh. That irritated the man all the more. They were both to blame.
Julian cut a glance at Pierce. "I think they do a fine job of tormenting each other. But he does want her to become more calm. He thought coming to dinner with us at Willowreach might have a good effect on her."
"But you and Lily haven't been there. Are you going down to Kent?" Killian asked.
"No. Lily wasn't feeling up to it and I'm up to my neck in the harvest. The loss of my estate manager has been a blow to me. I'm having to learn quickly what's to be done and done efficiently. I won't let my tenants starve this winter."
"Good man," said Killian.
"Last year, they did without hams and turkeys, vegetables too. I read it in the books. My father was scrimping on everything he could. I won't. I need them and I want them healthy."
Killian nodded, remembering the discussion he and Olivia had had about noblemen who could not order their estates to be profitable.
"In any case," Julian went on, sitting back, "Elanna will have to learn to take care of herself. If she’s not happy with Carbury, then she must attempt to discuss her problems with him. Not scream or throw things at him. And now there’s a child coming into this. She must change."
"Carbury, too," Pierce added.
"Carbury, too," Julian agreed.
The three ate their breakfast in silence for a few minutes.
Foster, his butler, entered and presented Killian with an envelope on a silver tray. "Monsieur Hanniford" in fine script was upon the front. On the back, the crest of the hotel to which he had delivered Liv last night after the most stirring kisses he'd enjoyed in years. It bore no postage, so the item must have been hand-delivered.
"Foster, who brought this?"
"A coachman, sir, from a public carriage."
Killian shot to his feet. "Just now?"
"Yes, sir."
Killian threw down his napkin and bounded for the foyer, the front door, the steps, the walk. He halted in the road. At the far corner, he spied a black carriage, one of those public hackneys with a worn shiny top. It was rounding the circle.
She'd gone. Too far to catch. But she must have decided to stay in Paris. Meet him for dinner or the theater.
Heart pounding like a boy, he grinned and tore open the missive.
"Dear Mr. Hanniford,
Last night was an idyll. I shall not forget it.
But we will not continue.
With regards,
Lady S."
She dare not look back. If she did, she'd return. And she mustn't.
"What is the problem, Mama?" Camille asked her, her sweet chocolate eyes sad with concern as she bent toward her in the cab.
Tears clogged her throat. She crushed her handkerchief in her lap.
"What did you just do?"
Liv put two fingers to her mouth and willed herself to calmness. "I thanked Mister Hanniford for his kindnesses to see me home last night."
Camille studied her for far too long. "After you returned last night, you were awake for a very long time."
Cursing myself for my weakness in liking him.
"I wondered if perhaps he'd..."
Liv stared at her daughter.
"Kissed you."
"No."
Camille laughed and clapped her hands. "He did! You're blushing!"
"Don't, Camille. Please." Liv glanced away, wishing the oil cloth in the window were clearer so that she could view the bustle of people in the streets.
"And you're sad. Why?"
"Stop this."
"No. Mama, is he that much of a scoundrel, a—a what do they call these Americans? A buccaneer? So bold that you cannot allow him to be your friend?"
"He does have a scurrilous reputation." And I was taught at a young age to hate him.
"Tell me about him."
What little information would suffice? With Camille, there was not room to guess. "Much of what Mister Hanniford has done is to build his businesses."
Camille put on a tolerant face. The child was too precocious. "Mama, that is not an explanation."
"He had dealings with your grandfather. Years ago during the civil war in America. Mister Hanniford owned ships that transported cotton for the southern states to England. He charged exorbitant rates for his goods."
"But your father didn't sell goods. He owned his own ships."
"Mister Hanniford earned great wealth and bought out the shares of my father's shipping company."
"So this is how grandpapa lost his business?"
Liv nodded. "It is."
"So you dislike Mister Hanniford for that."
"I hold him accountable for his actions, yes."
"I see. Was the price fair?"
Liv squared her jaw. "Not the price my father asked."
Camille turned her face to her own window, her brow furrowing. "But grandpapa had other businesses. The coal mines. And wasn't he invested in a train? With the old duke of Seton? Julian's father?"
"He was allied with him, yes. Seton bought him out for a pittance." Another bad bit of bargaining on the part of her father. Liv bit her lip. She hadn't meant to share that last. But Camille was a smart girl, capturing everything said in her presence and everything unsaid as well. Family secrets were difficult to contain with such a wizard in her midst.
"Does that have anything to do with Mister Hanniford?"
"What? The purchase by Seton of your grandfather's shares in the train? No, nothing." But it was part of a series of challenges fro
m which my father did not recover.
"This purchase of your father's shipping line happened how many years ago? In eighteen-sixty?"
"Sixty-one." Liv frowned. Camille knew foreign affairs, too. She was well versed in reasons for the great recession that had occurred in England because of cotton shortages in the mills. Liv could not avoid expanding her knowledge. "Eighteen years ago."
"Isn't that a long time to hold a grudge?"
Liv squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the sharp words she wished to scream so the world would hear. "Your grandfather's financial failures had long term effects."
"So much so that after all these years, you cannot enjoy Mister Hanniford's company?"
"Yes. Some hardships are not forgotten." Lack of food. Lack of money. The fear for tomorrow. The disgrace. A mother crazed. A father stunned and stoic. "Some failures are not easy to dismiss."
"Even if you like someone—"
"Even if you do."
Chapter 6
April 1879
Brighton, Sussex
Killian paced the length of his private car as the train chugged toward Brighton. He should have come south months ago. But the land agent he wished to see had been ill and only recently recovered. That delayed his plans and his hopes for a quick start to construction.
English weather was hideously unpredictable and to get a finished product within the normal ten-to-fourteen months construction period, he should have begun building last month. This month, at latest. To add one need upon another, he should be at Willowreach. His oldest daughter Lily was soon to deliver her first child at her estate, while in Paris, his niece Marianne prepared to welcome her own baby.
"You're wearing a hole in the carpet, Father." Pierce motioned for him to reclaim his seat opposite him. "You said this man couldn't meet us sooner. What's his name again?"
"Gerald Carruthers." Killian had been surprised that his son, who made friends fast and wide wherever he went in Europe, had not met this agent.
"Ah, yes, Carruthers. Works only in Brighton, I assume?" When Killian tipped his head, Pierce inhaled. "Well, there's nothing for it but to decide on this quickly and get back to Willowreach."
Sweet Siren: Those Notorious Americans, Book 3 Page 5