The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

  Footsteps crunched up the walk.

  She turned from her dreams and walked outside. “It’s all gone, Williams.”

  “Not quite, miss. I have something to show you.”

  “You should have gone with the rest, Williams.”

  He turned to face her with the hulking mess she’d called a home forming a background she couldn’t miss.

  “Sorry, Miss Amelia, but you’re stuck with me.” To prove his statement, he linked her arms in his and led her toward the old well. She pulled back, unwilling to share her special place with anyone other than Father. But Williams kept his grip on her arm, patting it like Father would have done. “Come, I have something to show you. When I noticed the second fire, I suspected foul play.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “Because there was no connection between them. No natural reason to explain their existence.”

  “It was Moore.” She covered her heart as a piercing pain radiated outward. “Winston told him to do it, and he did. Like a little puppet with no morals of his own.”

  With the well platform upon them, she sank onto it with her head resting on her arms and knees.

  “I smelled kerosene as soon as I approached the kitchen, where the first fire started. I suspect they splashed it about and added a lit match. Not just once, but on the verandas as well. I believe he—or they—would have done the same through the front door but didn’t want to risk being discovered. We could have caught the culprit if we hadn’t been otherwise occupied.”

  “I’m so thankful you all got out alive.” She shivered at what might have been.

  “Which brings me to the reason we are here.”

  She looked at the shambles of her life. “I know exactly why I’m here, Williams, and it’s all because of Moore and his fiendish family.”

  “Not quite.” He held his hand out to her. “If you will.”

  Oh dear, now Williams was acting strange. But she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  Williams moved to the back of the well and dropped to his haunches.

  “What are you doing?”

  Instead of answering, he raised half the platform like a cellar door opening and then laid it on top of its mate.

  Amelia gasped as she realized it wasn’t a well at all but simply a three-foot hole in the same shape as the platform that covered it.

  “What’s this?” Close to the side where Williams stood sat the new trunk that Moore gave her.

  “You’d already packed it, miss. But in the rush I dragged it down the stairs myself, and it’s not a light one by any means and it got away from me and tumbled twice before stopping. And then I somehow managed to get it out here.”

  He drew such a comical picture of what must have been the most harrowing experience of his life. She flicked the latch and opened the trunk lid. Instead of neat and orderly, her things were topsy-turvy and a complete mess, but one sight of her jewelry box and she was in tears. “Williams, I can’t imagine I’ll ever be able to thank you for this.”

  He straightened like his old self. “Don’t say that until you’ve seen the damage, miss.”

  She opened the jewelry box her father had made from her mother’s sewing chest. Both the pin and the locket were safe inside, although the locket chain would need some patience straightening out. It wavered before her. “Thank you, Williams. You’ve given me something precious. Something I thought I’d lost forever.”

  He turned away and sniffed. “You’re very welcome, miss. It’s what your father would have wanted me to do.”

  She wanted to hug him, but propriety demanded she not. Propriety? She didn’t give a toot about correct behavior when her home was in ruins and Williams had saved the only things that truly mattered.

  “And this.” He pulled out Father’s gold watch and placed it in her hand. “I managed to grab that, too.”

  That did it. She threw her arms around his waist and hugged as hard as she could. “Thank you, Williams. Thank you.”

  His arms surrounded her with the lightness of someone unsure what was expected. “There, there. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  Jeremy bent low in the saddle and urged his already galloping horse faster, faster, as if he could outrun the black and empty future dragging in the dust behind him.

  But he hadn’t even gone a few hundred yards when the high-pitched, raspy breathing of his horse infiltrated the disturbing images he’d witnessed a few hours before.

  “Whoa, boy.” He dismounted and then slid the reins over the horse’s head, annoyed that he’d allowed his frustrations to threaten the well-being of the gentle animal. With the horse walking beside him, he wiped the lather from his long, silky neck. “Easy, boy. We’ll walk a spell. It’ll do us both a world of good.”

  As the horse’s wheezing diminished, Jeremy’s thoughts were overtaken by Amelia’s expression as the words of the telegram registered. Her shock that he’d been the instigator had brought out his denials. But her pain at his alleged betrayal had silenced him.

  Why did she feel betrayed? They had been on opposite sides since their first meeting. No, before that even, because Winston had raised Jeremy to believe that Robertson had stolen from Winston’s family, and his main purpose in life was to enact revenge.

  Spotting a rock in his path, Jeremy kicked it with every ounce of frustration that clung to his muscles. It flew down the road a bit and then skittered to the side. He stared at the rock as they walked past it. Amelia was like that rock. He’d kicked her whole world apart by pointing out her illegitimacy, but all she did was roll along, and when she stopped, she stood straighter than before. She’s the one he should be admiring, not some madman with no sense of morality.

  And he did admire her. More than admire her. She pulled at his heart so that each time he’d had a harder time leaving, and it had only been his loyalty to Winston that had ensured his distance.

  While his attachment to her had grown stronger, the one he’d felt for Winston had thinned with brittleness at each hurtful deed to Amelia, until finally it had snapped like Winston’s mind.

  Jeremy stopped walking. Closing his eyes, he looked heavenward and sniffed the air. Dust, prairie grasses, and newly turned earth mingled together. For the first time in a long time he sent up a prayer asking for wisdom, help, and forgiveness.

  Later in town after returning the horse to the livery, he headed for the sheriff’s office. No more regrets, he knew exactly what he had to do before he could even think of presenting himself to the woman who’d come to mean more to him than anything or anyone else on earth.

  In the middle of the night, Amelia awoke disoriented by the strange room and the gently snoring woman beside her. Within moments, events of the previous day rushed in with stark reality. If she hadn’t opposed Moore when he told her to leave, would the mill, woods, and house still be standing? The pressure on her chest kept her still while the familiar lump grew in her throat. Had it been her fault?

  Moonbeams shone through Rosie’s window and fell across Amelia. She had prayed that the overcast weather meant God would send the rain to put the mill fire out, but not a drop fell anywhere in the county on a day they needed it the most.

  As good as her word, Rosie had been waiting in front of the mercantile when Williams drove up with everything she owned in the back of the wagon. Funny how she’d packed it with the future in mind without realizing the devastation attached.

  Bless Williams for having the wisdom to see the danger and act upon it. With the stumble he’d taken, had he really managed to save her things intact?

  She slid off the bed, careful not to wake Rosie, who would get up at first light on her own.

  Sitting on the floor, Amelia opened the trunk lid and took out her jewelry chest. The mother-of-pearl leaves picked up the moonlight, presenting a surreal picture, inviting her caress. She opened it and one by one took out the only items she had left that her parents had touched. She held the items against her heart—a pin, locket, and watch. Me
re items devoid of anything resembling affection, and yet she felt connected through them to her loved ones.

  By the light of the slow-moving moon, her gaze fell on a splash of white in the jewelry box interior. She didn’t remember anything else inside, but perhaps Williams had added something and in the turmoil forgot to mention it.

  Holding the box up to the light for a closer look, she found that an inch of the velvet interior had torn away from the wooden side, and between the lining and the wood poked the corner of a white paper.

  Williams wouldn’t have had time to rip the fabric away from the side, add a note, and then reseal the lining save for the one inch that had caught her eye. And even if he did, there was no guarantee she would find it—unless he told her about it. Yet they’d driven the whole way to town yesterday with barely a word between them.

  As she replaced her pin, locket, and watch safely back in the box, she couldn’t stop looking at the white corner. Father had made the jewelry box for her with her mother’s sewing box. In all the years she’d owned it, it hadn’t strayed from its spot on her bureau. So whatever was on the paper had been placed there by Father or the person who added the lining.

  Her hands trembled as she ripped the velvet away from the wood, little bits at a time, stopping after each tear to ensure Rosie didn’t wake. When the opening was three inches long, she pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper.

  At the sight of her mother’s iris-emblazoned paper, her tears poured out. She dropped the paper and hid her face in the hem of her nightshirt to muffle the sounds she couldn’t hold back.

  Many minutes later, she moved her position into the moonbeam once more. With a deep cleansing breath, she unfolded the paper to find Father’s masterful script. Disappointment that it wasn’t from the mother she never knew was short-lived as she read the letter addressed to her and written so many years ago. Although his words didn’t explain her parentage, it acknowledged her as his blood kin and sole heir of all that he owned.

  She tucked Father’s will back into its hiding spot, closed the lid, and put the box back into the trunk Moore had provided, all the while feeling that she hadn’t won anything at all.

  Thanks to Williams, they would rebuild. Not elaborate, but a house big enough for her and the staff, who wouldn’t have to worry about jobs—unless they wanted to leave. She’d rebuild the mill, maybe with new technology and a coal-fired steam heating system. They could be ready for harvest if they were diligent. With the seedlings safely planted, she’d be able to continue her botany work in a new conservatory as funds permitted.

  Planning her future should have made her content.

  It didn’t.

  She stood by the window hugging herself. What good was re-creating the past, when all she really wanted was a future with a man she could never trust?

  Chapter 9

  A few hours later Williams drove Amelia back to the ruins she had inherited. On the way, she told him about the will and asked him to keep it to himself as she hadn’t decided what to do with the information yet. It was his reward for the action he’d taken to ensure her future. Even Rosie wouldn’t know that the will was hidden upstairs in her quarters.

  During the night the wind had weakened the wall of bricks supporting her princess turret and it had fallen into the rubble of the blackened shell. Amelia grieved for her loss, yet the discovery of the will not only eased a portion of the calamity, it gave her energy to start the rebuilding process. And before that could start, the old and broken had to go.

  She didn’t expect to see Moore again, so when he didn’t show that day, she wasn’t surprised. The next day, either. However, over the next few days she found herself looking down the empty drive hoping to see him riding toward her.

  “He’ll be back, miss, one of these days.” Williams tossed a charred board onto the pile they would set on fire later. He hadn’t wanted to wear the denim overalls that Rosie had pressed into her hands the first morning of their return, but after hours of wear, he had admitted they saved his suit from dirt and tears and were comfortable while working.

  She sent another peek down the drive. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, I do. And although you haven’t asked my opinion, I don’t believe he set the fires.”

  “You don’t? Why?”

  “He was with you when the fire in the woods started, as well as the house.”

  “He could have paid someone to do it for him just like Winston did.”

  Williams nodded. “Yes, miss. Just like Winston did. That doesn’t prove it was Moore.” He pulled a sodden handkerchief out of his back pocket—the gesture reminding her that she needed to check with Hanover about the mill’s progress later.

  “I don’t believe Mr. Moore would do anything to hurt you intentionally, miss. He had ample opportunities to evict you empty-handed. First, he let you stay even though, by your own words, you had no legal right to be here. Then he allowed you to pack anything you wanted so long as it would fit into the trunk. Yes, he turned it into a game and toyed with you, but I believe it was more pretension than a wish to run you off.”

  Her pulse raced as he said his piece, but then it slowed as memories of her first meeting in Moore’s office flooded back. Williams hadn’t seen Moore’s face as he’d delivered his brutal news. “I must get you a hat, Williams. I believe the sun has touched your head.”

  “If that’s what you think, miss, but I saw how he looked at you.”

  She felt as if she stood on the edge of a raging river and needed Williams’s answer to ferry her across. “How did he look at me?” She held her breath.

  Williams focused on the charred wood he’d thrown on the pile. “Tortured, miss.”

  Several days after Williams’s revelation, the sheriff stopped by the estate to say he’d completed his investigation and he’d charged two men with arson for setting all three of the fires on her property.

  “Does Mr. Moore know?”

  If the sheriff was surprised by her response he didn’t show it. “Yep. As the attorney handling all your affairs, I thought he should know.”

  Moore was Winston’s attorney, not hers, but since it didn’t matter one way or the other to the case, she didn’t feel the need to explain. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  So Moore had spoken the truth when he’d claimed innocence. If he refused Winston’s order, was he still working for him? Or was all forgiven because he was family?

  Amelia brought the water jug and cups around to the men. As they drank, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing down the drive.

  And then she took a second successive glance because she wasn’t sure if the sight of Moore was real or imaginary. Her pulse quickened. Yes, he was riding up her drive.

  Aware of her soil-stained outfit and windblown hair, she strode to the tent Williams had erected as shelter from the June sun. At the washstand inside, she poured water out of the pitcher and into the basin so fast that it sloshed over the side. Ignoring her mess, she scrubbed her face and fixed her hair.

  If it was going to be their last meeting, then what he saw today would be the memory he took back to Chicago.

  She emerged from the tent to find him standing by his horse watching the workers. He looked tired and worn as if he hadn’t slept much in the past week. Since a sincere social salutation didn’t come to mind, she simply nodded and waited for him to speak.

  “Miss Amelia.” He tipped his hat with formality. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you.” Suddenly, she wanted him to leave because it was hurting too much to go on. Perhaps it was the mental and emotional games he had played at her expense, or the physical activity of the past week, or the knowledge of what might have been if he’d come under different circumstances, but a lump was growing in her throat, and she was so very tired of it all. “State your business, Moore.”

  “I came to say I’m sorry for all the suffering I’ve caused.”

  She crossed her arms because she couldn’t argue with him, and she
wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, either.

  “You’re making good progress here.”

  She raised her chin. “At the mill, too.” She braced herself, ready to counteract his order to stop work and get off the property.

  “That’s good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve parted ways with Winston.”

  She stared at him. “How? Isn’t he your stepfather or something?”

  “Something like that.” His wry smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s all formal with signatures so I can’t be held responsible for any of his future actions.”

  “That was wise.”

  This time his smile was genuine. “Yes, I think so, too. But the best part is this …” He handed her a stamped envelope with Winston’s return address.

  She accepted it with trembling fingers and then held it by her side. “If you’re not Winston’s attorney, does that mean he’s sending someone else to evict me?”

  “No, you’ll never be evicted again, because look—” He reached down and snatched the envelope out of her hand. With an experienced flick, the letter was out of the envelope and open toward her. “Winston gave me the Robertson estate as payment for services rendered. He wanted to be rid of the whole thing.”

  She saw the flash of pain in his eyes and instinctively knew that his refusal to do Winston’s bidding had broken whatever strings had tied them together. But what did that mean for her?

  “Are you saying that you own my land now?”

  “Yes—no! I want to give it back to you, dearest, as a wedding present. Look …” He held the paper close to her eyes when she refused to touch it. “Down here I’ve annotated that I give up all rights to the property known as the Henry Robertson estate and Robertson’s Syrup Mill out of McLeod County, Minnesota, and bestow them on one Amelia Cord Robertson of the same location.”