Lost Fortune (The Unbridled Series Book 1)

by Sandra E Sinclair

  “I’ve given you everything your father left in trust for you. There is no more.” Pigeuron mopped his brow, waving a fan with his other hand.

  “I only came here as a courtesy, and to give you the opportunity to come clean. I have documents that tell a different story.” Wyatt removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Jaw rigid, his eyes pebbled as he stared at Pigeuron. “You, sir, are a man of low moral standing, and as God is my witness, I promise you—I will not rest until I have in my possession what is rightfully mine.”

  He pushed his hair back, replacing his hat, and said, “There are only two possible explanations for this discrepancy. Either you’ve stolen from me, or my property has been given to someone else. Both unforgivable transgressions on your part. Either way, rest assured, I will get to the bottom of this.” Satisfied his threat hit home when he saw Pigeuron swallow, he spun on his heels. “Good day, sir.”

  Wyatt entered his home muttering to himself. He tossed his hat and coat at the help who appeared from nowhere. His heavy boots echoed through the grand hall of the enormous mansion he’d inherited from his father. He wished his mother was still alive to join him in the dance on his cheating father’s grave. His thumbnail scraped at the skin of his palm as he ignored the help’s chatter.

  “What are you talking about? Who’s here to see me?” He came to an abrupt stop. The stranger rose from the seat outside his study with his gun strapped to his hip and hat in hand.

  “Cal…Calvin Dalton at your service.” Cal held his hand out, then drew it back in when Wyatt just stared at it, his face tightened and scrunched. “The Pinkerton Agency sent me,” he offered as way of explanation.

  Realization exploded in Wyatt’s mind. “Excuse my manners, Mr. Dalton. You caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting your arrival until tomorrow.” Wyatt stuck out his hand, Cal shook it.

  “I gathered as much when I arrived. I had previous business in Boston and thought it fitting to make my presence known.”

  “Excellent, please follow me to my study. Can I offer you a beverage?”

  “No, thank you, I must be going. I thought it prudent to let you know I was already here in case you had a mind to meet me at the station tomorrow. However, I still have other business in town I need to take care of.”

  “I see. Let me show you out.”

  “Thank you.”

  They took the short journey to the main entrance in silence. Wyatt didn’t much care for the way Dalton looked at him with those stony, gray eyes. Thinking about it, he didn’t have to care. He wasn’t paying him to like him. He needed him to find out what happened to his legacy, and if anyone could shine some light on this peculiarity, it would be a Pinkerton agent. They were renowned for getting the job done, and he needed results.

  “Shall we say, ten tomorrow? I’ll send my carriage for you. Where are you staying?”

  “Hayward’s, but I’ll find my own way.”

  “Tomorrow then.” Wyatt slapped the hand he was about to offer Dalton to his side since the man had already reset his hat and was making his way down the street. He headed in the direction of Hayward’s, leaving the distinct scent of vanilla behind him.

  Wyatt strode back into the house and shouted for the help to shut the door, as he made his way to the study. He hoped whatever business this Dalton fellow had didn’t get him killed before he had a chance to find out what had happened to his money.

  He was entitled, being that he was the only heir. His mother had married beneath her as far as he was concerned, to a man who cared for nothing and no one, aside from his whores and his money. He didn’t give a hoot how prominent the name Worthington was in these parts. That strain of his family was a disease, which should be eradicated. If the carriage ride hadn’t killed his father, Wyatt would have.

  His mother had been a fool to love such a man. What did she get for her troubles? A broken heart which weakened her disposition, and eventually killed her. He clenched his fist and his back stiffened. Wyatt would take from his father in death what he’d refused to give him and his mother while he was alive.

  Which meant everything.

  Chapter 4

  Cal turned into the busy street and made his way to the guesthouse where he’d left his belongings before calling on Mr. Worthington. He’d met a few pompous idiots in his time, but Wyatt Worthington was the mother of them all.

  Looking down his nose at folks like he was so important. He obviously had no clue who Calvin Dalton was, or what the family name Dalton meant, and Cal wasn’t about to tell him. Sure, the name Worthington might mean a little something here. But he could buy that grand house fifty times over, and use it for a guestroom or burn it to the ground; it was neither here nor there to him.

  It was social monkeys like Worthington that made him want to turn his back on his life and seek something more substantial. He needed a bath to wash off the hypocrisy of men like Worthington. Then he’d go visit the sheriff. He’d heard the bandit he was after was holed up around here.

  Cal didn’t want any interference when he was ready to do his thing.

  He was good at what he did, but found when the law interfered, it led to casualties. He’d rather bring his men in alive. He respected human life; he also respected due process.

  Even if he said so himself, he was one of the best agents the Pinkerton agency had. A man of results with a 100 percent track record. They only called him in when the stakes were high, or the price was right. He had a mind to tell Worthington where to go. He didn’t like him, and if the occasion arose, he’d tell him as much.

  By the time he’d reached his destination, his temper sank. The thought of a vanilla and sandalwood salt bath always calmed the beast in him. He was greeted by Mrs. Hayward as soon as he stepped through the door.

  “How are you doing, Cal? Would you be taking your lunch with us? I can set you a plate in the dining room.”

  It was on his lips to say no, and if it wasn’t too much trouble, he’d like a plate sent to his room. Then he glanced into the dining room and saw the dark haired beauty who’d fallen into his arms on the train.

  “Who’s the filly?”

  Mrs. Hayward turned her head, and smiled. “Oh, that’s Miss Privet. She arrived today, but she’s only staying for one night.”

  “Is she now? Set my place by her, and see that we're alone. Can you do that for me?”

  Hands on hips, she said. “Cal Dalton, this is not that kind of establishment.” Her voice rose a little.

  Cal placed a finger to her lips. “Hush now, Mary-Beth, I only want to talk to the girl.”

  “If I wasn’t indebted to your folks, I’d throw you out.”

  “You know you don’t mean that. I’m nothing if not gentlemanly.”

  “I’ll set a place only if she says it's all right.”

  “Deal. I’ll go freshen up. I’ll be back in two shakes. See she says yes, mind.”

  “I make no promises, Mr. Dalton. The choice is hers.”

  Grinning, Cal said, “She’ll say yes if you sell me like you sold last week’s leftovers.”

  “I’ll have you know, I do not sell leftovers. I run a decent, respectable house.” She slapped him playfully on the arm.

  Cal laughed. “I’m warning you, Mary-Beth, when I come down, I expect to see two places set at that table.” He kissed her cheek and took the stairs to his room two at a time.

  Mary-Beth was a distant cousin who’d grown up in the Dalton household in Charleston, until she married Cal’s brother’s best friend, Gilmore Hayward. Soon after her nuptials, she’d moved to Boston to run the guesthouse with her husband.

  Cal washed his hands, face, and underarms, changed his shirt and splashed cologne on his cheeks and neck. His bath would have to wait.

  He made his way down to the dining room and smiled when he saw Miss Privet still sitting at the table, reading a book, and two places set for the midday meal. She sure was a beauty, almost exotic in appearance, with her dark hair and eyes.

  �
�Do you mind if I join you?” Cal asked, pulling out a chair.

  “I can’t say I have much of a choice. Mrs. Hayward said the tables are designated by room numbers. So I guess we're sharing.”

  Bless you, Mary-Beth. “I guess you’re right. If we’re going to be sharing a table every meal, it’s only proper I introduce myself. My name is Calvin Dalton. My family, friends, and now you, call me Cal.” He stuck his hand out.

  “Miss… Privet.” She took his hand. “Didn’t I see you on the train, Mr. Dalton?”

  “Please, call me Cal.”

  She placed her book on the table, and shifted around to face him. “I doubt I will be here long enough for us to become acquainted to the point of friendship. So Mr. Dalton suits me just fine.”

  “As you wish. Where is that accent from?”

  “France, but I’m not the only one with an accent. You don’t sound like a Bostonian.”

  “I’m not from around here. I arrived today. I live in Charleston, for the most part.”

  “Like Mrs. Hayward?”

  “Yes, she’s a cousin of mine, but lives here. Boston is her home now.”

  “You’re cousins, are you? I’m beginning to think these tables are not designated by room numbers after all.” She laughed.

  The sound stirred his insides. He smiled in response. “Busted. I asked her to arrange for me to meet with you. It wouldn’t be proper for me to just approach a woman of your standing, when you have no chaperon.” Heat burned at his cheeks. “I wanted to speak with you when I saw you on the train.”

  “Then why didn’t you? We have fewer rules in Paris for talking in public with the opposite sex. A chaperon is only required for a more, shall we say...intimate encounter.”

  “Is that a fact? And are all the ladies there as pretty as you?”

  “Oh, you flatter me, sir. They are far more beautiful than me. I’m what you could call homely in appearance by comparison.”

  “Pardon me for being so familiar, but you do yourself an injustice. There is nothing homely about your appearance.” Cal laughed. “However, if you’re saying the women there surpass you, maybe I should visit this Paris.”

  The crimson to her cheeks was most appealing. It was a pity she would be leaving before he had an opportunity to get to know her better. But he still had today, and he’d make the most of it. “Are you visiting family here?”

  “No, sadly I’m alone in the world. I came here on a personal matter, which will be concluded tomorrow. Then I’m not sure what I will do. I guess it’s something I’ll sleep on.”

  His heart felt tight in his chest as he drank in the innocence of her eyes and smile. He wanted her, like he’d never wanted a woman before. “If you have nothing pressing, could I persuade you to stay for at least another day?”

  “I think not. My experience in Boston has left me cold. The sooner I leave, the better.”

  Cal struggled to hide his disappointment, but he wouldn’t give up. “I have business to attend to this afternoon. However, if I ask my cousin to arrange an appropriate chaperon, would you walk with me this evening?”

  “No, I’m a little fatigued from my journey and would like to rest. At best, we may dine together again this evening.”

  “I suspected that would be your answer. I’ve never done this before, but I would like to offer you my card. Maybe you’d do me the honor and correspond with me. I would hate to lose contact with you.” He slid his card across the table. She took it without argument, and slipped it into her purse. He smiled, hoping one day she would use it.

  They ate a light lunch, and made small talk. Later he went off to find the sheriff, wishing away the hours until he’d see her again at dinner.

  Chapter 5

  Ten months had passed since Rilla had left Boston, and things were looking up. She’d decided to travel to Longchapel, and was pleasantly surprised to see the large house left to her in her father’s will. Deciding it was too much house for one person, she’d immediately turned it into a school for girls.

  She currently had eight girls from families of questionable reputations, with new applications flooding her mail every day. At first, the school was met with resistance, with many people believing a woman shouldn’t own her own business. Her clientele began to come in slowly at first; then momentum grew.

  Although it was never her intention, the girls she accepted had a tendency to have a similar history to her own. Inevitably, gossip soon followed. However, she didn’t give those gossipmongers the time of day.

  The gossip, and discrimination she received at the hands of those so-called Christians only went to strengthen her resolve. Those puritans were sparse in what constituted Christian spirit or charity, and if she could help her girls find their place in society, she would.

  After all, wasn’t she living proof it could be done? All her girls would have to do is graduate and find suitable matches outside Longchapel, and preferably outside California, where nobody knew their background. She’d see to it that they bridged the divide of the social class system.

  “Rilla, Mrs. Woolum’s here on a visit. I swear I don’t know how you abide a bone in that social climber's body. She’s more venomous than a rattlesnake.” Jewel Inghram, Rilla’s friend from school in Paris, handed her the other woman’s calling card, then flopped down into one of the chairs in the lounge.

  “Jewel, I wish you wouldn’t say such things. One day she might hear you.”

  “I don’t care if she does. She’s a horrid woman. I hope you know by marrying the calf, you’ll be getting the cow as well.”

  Rilla laughed. “That particular cow will be boarding elsewhere when Odum and I are wed.”

  “Do you really think that henpecked sow’s ear has the stones to stand up to his mother?”

  “Jewel, please, that’s my betrothed you’re speaking about. Odum’s a good man, we’re well matched.”

  “He’d be an even better man, and match, without his mother. As long as he’s married to her, he’s no good to you.”

  “Enough I say. She may hear you.”

  Jewel pouted, but stayed quiet, as Rilla rose to greet her soon to be mother-in-law.

  “My dear Rilla, it has always been my intention to visit you at the Staab School for Girls, much sooner,” Mrs. Woolum said, gliding into the room as if the house was on the market and she was a prospective buyer. Her gaze drank in every fixture and fitting, as she visibly sized up every square foot of the lounge. Rilla had no doubt she had done the same thing in the hall before being shown in.

  “You know you are always welcome, come in. Can I offer you a beverage?” Rilla showed her to one of the couches in the oversized room, and took a seat by Jewel.

  “Iced tea will be sufficient,” she said, handing her shawl and gloves to the help, as Rilla nodded her head to the servant to honor Mrs. Woolum’s request.

  “See to it you put in two lemon slices, a lot of ice and don’t skimp on the sugar. This California weather will be the death of me,” she said, waving her fan with one hand, and dabbing at her pink cherub cheeks with the other.

  “Please bring a pitcher and three goblets, with the lemon slices on the side,” Rilla instructed.

  “You’re too soft with the help. How are they going to learn respect if you mollycoddle them?”

  Rilla’s back stiffened, and she clasped her hands in front of her. She ought to let that remark go over her head. She wanted to, but something else deep inside just wouldn’t let it lie. “Excuse me if I speak out of turn. But I can assure you, I don’t need directing in how to manage my staff. I’ve been—”

  The other woman interrupted, her cheeks deepening in color, “I’m just saying, you ought to—”

  “So, Mrs. Woolum,” Jewel butted in, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning?” She stayed Rilla’s verbiage with a glance. “It’s my understanding you were to be overseeing the church’s bake sale fundraiser. Rilla, the students and I spent many hours in the kitchen in order to provide a
sizeable contribution. Some of the girls are at the church delivering the pies now. How will they know where to put everything if you are here?”

  Mrs. Woolum rounded on her. “Are you suggesting I’ve shirked my responsibility, Miss Inghram?”

  Jewel’s hand covered her mouth in faked astonishment. “Not at all. Whatever would make you think such a thing? I was just wondering; however, would they get by without you?”

  Rilla knew those fingers hid a smile. She couldn’t help smiling too, grateful to be staring at the side of Mrs. Woolum’s head. She raised her kerchief to her lips, and coughed to disguise her own amusement.

  Jewel always knew just how to defuse a situation. Rilla didn’t appreciate Mrs. Woolum’s interference with the way she handled her staff. Nor did she like the way Mrs. Woolum was eyeing the place as though, she was measuring for new drapes. Rilla wasn’t married to her son yet, and when they did tie the knot, Mrs. Woolum would not be living with them. No sir, that was never going to happen.

  “As it happens, I’ve left things in the hands of Mrs. Jenkins, who’s more than capable of handling things for a few minutes. Which brings me to the reason for my visit.” She took a sip of the iced tea Rilla handed to her. “Since you and Odum have announced your engagement, I have heard some disturbing information about the caliber of some of the families of the girls you have here.”

  “Really, and what exactly have you heard?”

  “I’m too much of a lady to repeat such things. I know how lax you foreign types are, but here we command certain standards. Let’s just say, woman offspring from trade families are hardly appropriate candidates to be schooled in such an establishment as yours. There are far more respectable, worthy families in need of schooling.”

  “They’re not the only ones in need of schooling,” Jewel muttered under her breath loud enough for Rilla to hear and give her friend a nudge. Oblivious, or maybe Mrs. Woolum was deafened, as she noisily continued gulping down her beverage.