At Long Last

by Shirlee Busbee

  Jeremy stared down at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "What are you planning, Bella?" he asked suspiciously. "Moving to Greenleigh is our only option. We have no choice. Mother should be informed as soon as possible about our change of circumstances. There is much to be done to move a household of this size."

  "Yes, yes, I quite agree," Bella said soothingly, patting his arm lightly, "but I still think it would be wise if we waited a few days before disrupting the entire household." She smiled at him. "You know how your mother worries. Wouldn't it be better if Greenleigh were all prepared for her and the children before we told her? Greenleigh has sat empty these past years, except for the Udmores, who keep the house up. There is much to be done before the house is ready for us. Wouldn't it be wiser to wait... just a little while?"

  Half-convinced, but still not entirely won over, Jeremy regarded her narrowly. Of all the siblings, despite the eleven years that separated them, he and Bella were the closest. He knew her well, and there was something about her manner that made him wonder just what she was up to. Aware that she would tell him nothing until she was ready and that her arguments had some merit, he reluctantly gave in. "Very well," he said. "We shall wait—but only until Thursday morning."

  Arabella considered pressing for more time, but discarded the idea. She knew that stubborn look on his face, and, if pushed further, Jeremy was likely to stalk from the room and blurt out everything to his mother. In the meantime, she needed to distract him and keep him busy—too busy to pay attention to her activities. A plan was forming in her mind, and she smiled sunnily up at him. "Very well, Thursday morning it shall be. Meanwhile, why don't you ride over to Greenleigh and assess what needs to be done?" As if the idea were spontaneous, she added, "It might be a good idea if you stayed the night there, so that time will not be wasted riding back and forth between the plantations." Something occurred to her. "You lost the plantations, but what about the slaves and other personal possessions? Did you pledge them, too?"

  Jeremy grimaced. "I think so. I don't really know—you have to remember, I was very drunk."

  If Jeremy had pledged the plantation slaves, their loss would be worse than the loss of Highview. Without the slaves, they would not be able to work the remaining lands, and her fortune, while considerable, could only be stretched so far. It would be depleted if she had to spend it on replacing slaves, as well as using it to support Mary and the children.

  She took a deep breath. It didn't matter she reminded herself grimly. She had every intention of getting Jeremy's vowels back. Forcing a smile, she said, "Well, let us hope that it is only your plantations that have been lost. Now, why don't you get ready to go to Greenleigh? If you hurry, you will be there in less than an hour. I shall tell your mother that you are doing me a favor by seeing how the house and lands are faring."

  His hand on the door, Jeremy halted and looked back at her. The sun shining through the window behind her turned her bright red hair to fire and bathed her in a golden glow. With her small stature and lively, fey features, she looked, he thought fondly, almost like a fairy princess standing there. Despite approaching her thirty-second year, she did not look much older than Sara did—much, he knew, to her chagrin. This morning she had certainly been his fairy godmother, he admitted gratefully. Without her he probably would have put a period to his existence. Still, he didn't quite trust her. When Arabella got something in her mind, there was no swaying her, and he could not help thinking that she had something planned he would not like. He knew very well that he was being sent to Greenleigh to get him out of the way, and it made him uneasy.

  A little frown creasing his brow, Jeremy said, "I may have been duped, but I did lose Highview to Leyton. There is nothing that can undo my foolish actions—and I do not want you doing anything that might be equally foolish."

  Arabella opened her eyes very wide, and, looking as innocent as she knew how—which was very innocent indeed—she murmured, "Why Jeremy, how you do run on. Of course, I will not do anything foolish."

  Her reply did not satisfy him, but he knew it was all he was going to get from her. "Very well, I shall have a horse saddled and leave for Greenleigh. I will be back either tomorrow night or Thursday morning—and we will tell Mother then. Correct?"

  "Of course. We agreed."

  After sending her one last searching glance, he finally left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Alone once more, Arabella paced the small room, her small face scrunched up into a fierce scowl. Thursday morning did not give her much time, but she was sworn to have Jeremy's vowels back by then, and by Gad, she would!

  She waited impatiently until she knew that Jeremy had well and truly departed for Greenleigh. Then she called for her cart to be readied, not fifteen minutes behind Jeremy, and drove in the opposite direction, to Natchez. Once in town, she went to the family attorney and, without explanation, despite his grave misgivings, retrieved the documents she wanted from his safe. Placing them in the small portfolio she had brought with her for that purpose, she turned to face Mr. Haight. Flashing him an impish smile, she said, "You are not to worry. I know what I am doing."

  Mr. Haight, bald and bespectacled, regarded her soberly. He had known the family since they had arrived from England nearly fifteen years previously and had considered William Montgomery a personal friend. "I hope you do," he said, his brown eyes concerned. "I have heard some disturbing rumors recently about young Jeremy's doings. I trust you are not going to ruin yourself trying to save him from the folly of his ways."

  Arabella opened her eyes very wide. "Why, Mr. Haight, whatever do you mean?"

  He snorted. "And don't try that innocent look on me, miss!"

  Arabella laughed, a seductive sound, so at odds with her puckish features. "Very well then, I won't. Good day to you, sir, and my best to your wife."

  Thoughtfully, Mr. Haight watched her drive away in her jaunty dark green and yellow cart pulled by a gleaming black mare. What that little minx needed was a husband. A strong-willed husband who would not be distracted by those laughing eyes or become helplessly twined around one of her slender, dainty fingers.

  It was a shame that young lieutenant of hers had been killed back in '87, when she had been only twenty-one. As he recalled, they had planned to marry that fall. Lieutenant Stockdale had seemed a nice young man when he had come to visit at Highview in the summer of 1786. Damned shame, Mr. Haight thought again. Instead of gallivanting about and risking her own fortune for that silly young fool, Jeremy, she would by now, no doubt, be surrounded by her own brood of children.

  His gaze still on Arabella's disappearing cart, he frowned. Of course that business five years earlier with Tony Daggett would never have done. It had been bloody bad luck that Dagget had returned from London just as she finally put aside her grieving for her dead fiancé. Dagget was a libertine, with two dead wives to his credit, wives that most people believed he had murdered. Haight could understand William Montgomery's objections to the match. Fortune and family aside, Mr. Haight would not have wanted a daughter of his to marry Tony Daggett. It was a dashed good thing that Arabella had for once shown some sense and followed her father's dictates.

  Arabella's cart disappeared from sight, and, with a shake of his head, Mr. Haight turned to go back inside his office. He'd said it once and he'd say again—that little baggage needed a husband!

  Smiling to herself, Arabella tooled happily down the dirt track leading away from Natchez, having a fair idea of Mr. Haight's thoughts. Nearly everyone was convinced that she should marry. Even her stepmother bewailed the fact that Arabella was approaching thirty-two and still unmarried. And it was a good thing, Arabella thought to herself, that she wasn't married. No husband would allow her to do what she had every intention of doing.

  Chapter 2

  Daniel Leyton's plantation, Oakmont, lay about ten miles from Natchez, and the afternoon was growing sultry by the time Arabella turned her mare onto the winding track that led to the main house. The badly rutt
ed road meandered about a mile through small patches of woodland and green cotton fields before ending in a circular driveway in front of an imposing house with wide, shady verandas surrounding it.

  Pulling her mare to a stop in front of the house, Arabella noted that she was not the only person to call that afternoon. A rakish scarlet-and-gold curricle hitched to a pair of restive grays was already standing on the far side of the circular drive. She did not recognize the vehicle, and its presence disheartened her. Leyton would be less inclined to see her if he was entertaining guests. Well, guests or not, she would just have to make certain that he did see her, she thought firmly. Jeremy had not left her much time in which to maneuver.

  At the sound of her vehicle a pair of round-faced black boys came running from around the corner of the house. Tossing the reins to one of them, Arabella alighted and left the cart in their care.

  Not giving herself a chance to consider the wisdom of what she was doing, portfolio and reticule in one hand, the hem of her pale yellow muslin skirts in the other, she quickly ascended the broad steps. She had barely crossed the wide front veranda and rapped smartly on the door when it swung open.

  Brushing artlessly past the startled butler, she said brightly, "Will you tell Mr. Leyton that Miss Montgomery has come to call?"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Montgomery, but Mr. Leyton is not receiving visitors this afternoon." The butler, a grizzled-haired black man in worn blue breeches and white shirt, waited in the open doorway for Arabella to leave.

  "Very well, then," she said amiably. "I shall wait here until he is seeing visitors." And she proceeded to cross the hall and seat herself on one of the delicate satinwood chairs along the east wall of the lofty entry hall. Smiling sweetly at the wide-eyed butler, she murmured, "Never mind me—you just go about your business. I shall be fine right here until Mr. Leyton is agreeable to seeing me."

  "But miss, you can't—"

  Arabella flicked a brow. "I certainly can. And I certainly shall. You may tell Mr. Leyton that I have no intention of leaving the premises until he sees me. Now run along and tell him that I am here."

  He hesitated, eyeing her uneasily. She smiled sunnily back at him. Shaking his head, he ambled off down the hall and disappeared.

  While she waited, Arabella glanced about her. The once-fine hall was almost shabby. The cream silk-hung walls were faded and worn, and there were paler marks on the fabric where pictures or other decorations had probably hung. Her eyes fell upon the green-and-cream marble-tiled floor, noting the grime and dust that clouded its beauty, and a look upward revealed an equally dirty chandelier, a plain pewter affair that looked oddly out of place. The entire room was neglected and in need of, if nothing else, a thorough cleaning. Perhaps, she thought, Leyton's finances were far worse than anyone realized.

  Her heart sank. Her task was going to be difficult enough, but if Leyton was desperate for money, it was unlikely that she was going to be able to convince him to release Jeremy's vowels—even with the offer of Greenleigh and her own lands to make it more palatable.

  Hearing the sounds of returning footsteps, she sat up straighter and forced a serene smile onto her face. As the butler motioned for her to follow him, she rose to her feet and sedately followed him toward the back of the house. So far, so good, she told herself.

  Walking behind the butler, Arabella discovered that the signs of neglect that she had noticed in the hall were everywhere. Traversing a long, wide hallway that ran the entire length of the house, she was greeted, as they passed by, with glimpses of echoing, empty rooms, or rooms ghostly with dust-covered furniture. It seemed that Leyton had abandoned most of the house and only lived in a few rooms at the rear.

  Stopping, the butler threw open a handsome paneled door, and announced, "Miss Montgomery to see you, master."

  Arabella took a deep breath and, like a small frigate armed for battle, canvas spread, sailed forward to meet the enemy.

  It was a pleasant room in which she found herself, the walls wainscoted in oak, a fine rug in tones of russet and gold lay upon the floor. Leyton, an annoyed expression on his pale features, was seated behind a large, untidy desk at the far end of the room. Behind him was a table littered with decanters and glasses; a comfortable leather chair was situated in front of the desk. To Leyton's left, a pair of French doors were half-open allowing the warm afternoon air to drift inside; heavy, gold damask drapery hung on either side of the doors.

  Making no effort at politeness, Leyton, a compactly built man of thirty-five, remained lounging in his chair. From his manner, it was apparent that he was extremely annoyed by the interruption. Arabella snorted to herself. She couldn't see why he should be annoyed—Jeremy was the wronged one, and it was clear from Leyton's casual garb, white shirt opened at the throat and breeches and boots, that he wasn't going anywhere.

  Arabella had only met him once or twice. Surreptitiously, she studied his features and concluded that while not unhandsome, his predilection for drink and self-indulgence had left its mark on his face, giving him a sulky look. He was also, she realized, going to be difficult.

  His careless position did not change even when she finally stood in front of his desk, but a disagreeable smile did cross his face. "You've wasted your time, Miss Montgomery—and mine," he said bluntly. "I assume the reason for your call is Jeremy's vowels. I tell you right now that I cannot give you those vowels."

  "Not even if I am willing to give you the deeds to my grandfather's home and the two other plantations that I inherited from him?" she asked quietly, as she set the portfolio and her reticule upon his desk. Opening the portfolio, she laid the documents on the desk in front of him. She was not going to let his boorish manner or discouraging attitude dissuade her from plunging forward with her plan.

  Leyton did not even look at the deeds or offer her a seat, but continued to stare at her in an unfriendly fashion. There was a tense air about him that puzzled her. She was the one who should be tense. She had not expected him to be happy to see her, but she had thought that he would at least listen to her. Was his surly manner simply because she had compelled him to see her? Remembering the curricle outside, she wondered if his previous visitor was the cause of his unpleasant mood. And where, she mused, was his visitor?

  Ignoring his lack of welcome, she seated herself on the other side of the desk from him, yellow muslin skirts fluttering about her ankles. So far they had not gotten off to an auspicious start, and there was an anxious knot in her stomach. Jeremy faced ruin—as did the rest of the family.

  She had put a good face on in it in front of her brother, but the truth was the family would be hard-pressed to maintain any semblance of gracious living if she did not get those precious vowels back from Leyton.

  The fortune she had inherited from her mother was generous, and for a single woman, was more than adequate for her needs—even the occasional extravagant splurge. But all her resources would be perilously strained to maintain even a modicum of the manner of life the Montgomery family was used to. Nor was her grandfather's house going to easily accommodate all of them. Greenleigh, though charming and comfortable, was only half the size of Highview. It had never mattered before that she had been more of a "comfortable" heiress than a great one. She had viewed her inheritances as precious little pots of gold that kept her independent and able to do as she wished. And if she wished to trade her fortune and independence for Jeremy's vowels, that was her business.

  Her lips thinned as the minutes spun out and Leyton let her offer simply hang there between them. He seemed distracted, she thought curiously, his gaze flitting constantly around the room, but why? The other visitor?

  She brushed the thought from her mind, growing impatient with the situation. "Well? What do you think?"

  "I am a very busy man and I do not have time to discuss this matter with you right now—besides which, there is the fact that we have nothing to discuss."

  Tamping down the despair that threatened her, Arabella leaned forward, and said urgently,
"Mr. Leyton, I know that I have burst in on you without warning, and for that I apologize most sincerely, but my need is desperate. It is not just Jeremy you have ruined, but my family as well. My stepmother is a widow, and she still has four minor children to care for—not an easy task. She and the children do not deserve to be thrown from their home because of a foolish act of Jeremy's." He appeared unmoved by her plea, his hazel eyes not meeting hers, a sullen cast to his lips.

  There had to be some way for her to convince him to return the vowels. She took a deep breath. "I am not so green as to beg you to return the vowels simply out of the goodness of your heart," she began earnestly, her golden brown eyes soft and pleading. "Remember, I do offer you something in exchange—not the fortune that Jeremy's vowels would bring you, but certainly a substantial addition to your holdings. Won't you please consider it?"

  Leyton snorted, his fingers moving restlessly through the scraps of paper on his desk, brushing against the deeds. "It is a bad bargain you are putting forth, Miss Montgomery."

  Disappointed but not surprised that her pleading had not moved him, Arabella tried another tack. "Is it?" she asked, leaning back into the chair and affecting a careless manner. "At least you would get some recompense for your efforts. Otherwise..." Her voice trailed off.

  His fingers stilled and his gaze narrowed. "Otherwise?"

  Appearing extremely interested in the folds of her yellow gown, she said coolly, "Why, only that if you do not accept my offer, I shall be forced to bring action against you for the way in which you cheated my brother out of his fortune." She crooked a brow. "I wonder how many other unwise young men you will be able to relieve of their wealth if your name is bandied all over the territory as a man who gets his victims drunk and then proceeds to ruin them?"