Always Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  “No, no, that can’t be right.” She felt off balance, as if the Earth had shifted and she might slide to the floor in a bewildered heap.

  “I don’t suppose he bothered to inform you.”

  “I’m certain he’s confused as to the extent of the predicament,” she said. “I’ll confer with him, and he’ll fix it immediately!”

  Shawcross shrugged casually, as if they were conversing about the weather. “As I just mentioned, he’s irresponsible, but I’m guessing you’ve learned that about him.”

  “You’re spewing madness,” she said. “This company is how we earn our income. How can you buy it at a sale? We didn’t even offer it to you! I’ll hire a lawyer and fight you!”

  “With what money? I don’t believe you have any anymore.”

  He displayed a folder full of papers, and he handed it to her, but she didn’t reach for it.

  “These documents explain it all,” he said. “You can take them home and read them at your leisure.”

  “But…but…it’s wrong that a family could lose all they have in the blink of an eye.”

  “Yes, I agree. It’s very, very wrong that a family could lose everything, but then, I’ve always thought the world was a very unfair place.”

  “You have to give us a chance to buy it back!” she insisted.

  He pretended to consider, then he grinned. “I could do that, but I don’t want to.” Then he shouted, “Mr. Wilson, attend me please.”

  The quivering idiot slithered in. “Yes, Mr. Shawcross?”

  “Show Beatrice out, and lock the door behind her. She is to never be allowed inside again.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Mr. Wilson bowed as low as a serf. “Come, Mrs. Carter. I’ll escort you down.”

  Beatrice was too stunned to move, so Lucas Shawcross lifted her to her feet. Before they could start out, Mr. Shawcross said, “There is another little issue I should probably raise.”

  She couldn’t imagine what it might be. Any dire comment seemed likely. “What is it?”

  “I’ve had accountants reviewing the ledgers, and there are huge irregularities with the numbers.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “Someone with authority over the customer accounts has been embezzling for years. Mr. Wilson advises me that you are the only person who had complete access. Well, your son has it too, but we’ve already established that he’s irrelevant. Who might have been stealing, Beatrice?”

  Her knees were suddenly so weak she was surprised she didn’t collapse.

  Of course she had embezzled, but she didn’t deem it to be theft. She’d merely utilized some of Charles’s old tricks by pilfering from the larger clients. There was so much money flowing hither and yon. No one ever missed it, and it was so expensive to run Carter Crossing, so expensive to fund Clayton’s fast living.

  How could she survive on the paltry amounts the company generated? Especially when so many of their customers had fled. It wasn’t possible to make ends meet without a bit of conniving.

  “I can’t fathom what you mean,” she vehemently stated.

  “Yes, I’m sure you can’t, and jail is a very lonely spot. I’ve heard some people, after they’re incarcerated, are so disgraced that they wind up hanging themselves.”

  The mention of jail had her utterly terrified.

  Jail was for felons! Jail was for criminals! She wasn’t a…a…criminal. She was a widow and mother who was simply trying to pay her bills. How could that be a crime?

  “Let’s go, Mrs. Carter,” Mr. Wilson said.

  Lucas Shawcross added, “Don’t forget your documents, Beatrice. We want you to be very clear about what’s happened to you.”

  He stuck the folder under her arm, then Mr. Wilson yanked her out and dragged her away. The sole benefit of the mortifying moment was that—when they passed through the main room—none of the clerks were present to watch her humiliation.

  Wilson pushed her outside, tugged the door shut, and spun the key in the lock. She stood on the busy wharf, feeling as if a sharp ax had chopped her to pieces.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nathan Blake, Lord Selby, grinned at his half-sister, Sarah Sinclair.

  For most of his life, he hadn’t remembered he had a half-sister. From the moment earlier in the summer when recollection had flooded in, he’d had teams of men searching for her, but he’d had no luck.

  Then, with Fate guiding her steps, she waltzed in his front door and begged for his help. Their reunion had been accomplished that easily.

  As opposed to him, she had always remembered she had a half-sibling, but she hadn’t ever contacted him. She’d been too afraid he’d ignore any overture. The prospect would have crushed her, so she’d stayed away—until she’d been in dire straits and had had nowhere to turn but to him.

  She’d run an orphanage in London, but the building had been sold, and she hadn’t had the funds to restart it elsewhere. The facility had been her home for twenty-four years, and when she’d been tossed out of it, she’d ended up living with his best friend, Sebastian Sinclair.

  Sebastian had promptly ruined her, then her problems had grown worse. When he’d been out of town, his mother had kicked her out, so she’d been imperiled for the second time in a matter of weeks. She still had custody of two orphans from her orphanage—Noah and Petunia Sinclair—and they’d been imperiled by Sebastian’s mother too.

  That string of catastrophes had brought her staggering to Selby, and he was delighted to be a person who fixed problems. He’d quickly fixed all of hers.

  He’d gotten her married to Sebastian without delay, and Sebastian had rescued Noah and Petunia from the certain disaster his mother had arranged for them. So Sebastian—the consummate bachelor and libertine—suddenly found himself to be a husband with a pair of half-siblings he was about to adopt and raise.

  Since Nathan had recently stumbled into his own happy marriage, he’d thought it only fair that Sebastian abandon his bachelor ways too.

  Nathan and his wife, Nell, had hosted an immediate wedding for Sebastian and Sarah, and the newlyweds were loafing at Selby, with Noah and Petunia racing down the halls. It made everyone smile to hear the sound of children laughing and playing. It seemed as if the manor was being reborn, as if the ghosts were being driven out so that gentler, kinder people could take their places.

  With Sarah’s arrival, he’d been able to give her a special gift. While she’d recalled having a brother, she had completely forgotten that she also had a twin sister named Rebecca.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he told her.

  “What is it?” she asked. “And in light of the calamities I’ve endured lately, will you forgive me if I apprise you that I’m not in the mood for any surprises?”

  “Yes, I’ll forgive you, but you’ll like this one. I promise.”

  They were in his library, just the two of them chatting quietly. He was seated at the desk, and she was in the chair across. They were sipping a whiskey, with her husband having spilled the beans that she had all sorts of tendencies that weren’t the least bit ladylike.

  Nathan was thirty, and she was twenty-seven. They’d lived together for the first three years of her life. His mother had been an aristocrat’s daughter who’d died birthing him, while hers had been the nanny their father had hired for Nathan after he’d been widowed.

  Their parents had been very much in love, their home a cheery spot, but it had abruptly concluded when they’d been killed in a carriage accident. Nathan had become the Selby heir, and he’d been whisked off to Selby by his cruel, malicious grandfather.

  Rebecca had been sent to her mother’s relatives in an unrecalled town on the coast, and with England being an island, the possibilities of where that town might be located were infinite. Sarah—who’d been sick on the fateful day when they were separated—had been delivered to an orphanage. The cousin who’d shown up to retrieve the twins had refused to assume custody of her when sh
e was so ill.

  She might have suffered any dismal ending, but the orphanage owner had eventually adopted her, so she’d had a stable existence there. But what had Rebecca encountered? The question haunted him.

  Shortly before his father had perished, when Nathan was six, his father had had a stern talk with him. He’d charged Nathan with the duty to watch over his sisters and to protect them if anything ever happened.

  Considering how malevolent his grandfather, Godwin, had been, his father had been right to worry about the twins. Nathan’s sisters had been gravely endangered by Godwin not letting them come to Selby with Nathan.

  Nathan had taken his father’s obligation to heart, but he’d been a little boy with no power or money. Gradually, his kin had convinced him he didn’t have any sisters, and ultimately, he’d begun to believe them. Over the summer though, memories had rocked him, and he’d started his search.

  He rummaged in his huge stack of correspondence to extract the letter he’d received. He tossed it to her and said, “Read that.”

  She gaped at it and frowned. “It’s from your clerk—the one who’s leading the hunt for Rebecca.”

  “He’s positive he’s picked up her trail. He doesn’t provide much detail, but it’s good news.”

  As she scanned the words, he could sense her frustration.

  “He doesn’t offer any significant facts!” she complained. “You’ve simply raised my impatience to a higher level.”

  “I asked him not to get my hopes up until he had firm information.”

  “You’re torturing me,” she said.

  “If he finds Rebecca’s relatives, he has a letter from me to present to them. In it, I request that it be given to her, so she can write to us—if she’d like to.”

  “Why wait for a response? Why don’t we just go to her?”

  “What if she doesn’t remember us? Or what if circumstances would prevent her from leaving where she is? I decided she should initiate any contact.”

  “That’s a deranged idea!” she huffed.

  “I agree, so I’ve had second thoughts. I wrote him again and told him to introduce himself, then convey her to Selby. I advised him to act as if she has no choice in the matter.”

  Sarah grinned. “So…he could ride in any day, and she’ll be with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my lord. Don’t tell me things like that! You’ll have me loitering in the driveway for the remainder of my life and praying for a carriage to roll down the lane.”

  “I figured as much, so I’ve had third thoughts.”

  “What are they?”

  “If he meets with her, we should be there too.”

  “That’s more like it, Brother. When will we depart for the coast?”

  “I sent yet another letter to him. He’s staying at a coaching inn in a town called Frinton. If he locates her, he’s to notify me, and we’ll join him before he proceeds.”

  “Do you really think we’ll find her?”

  “I have no doubt at all.”

  “What will it be like to come face to face with her?”

  He smirked. “She’ll probably ask what took us so long.”

  “And we’ll bring her home?”

  “Yes, we’ll bring her to Selby—where Father would have wanted her to be—and we will never let her out of our sight again.”

  * * * *

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “What won’t I believe?”

  Sarah Blake Robertson Sinclair gazed at her husband, Sebastian, and said, “Nathan heard from his investigator—the man who’s looking for Rebecca?”

  Sebastian froze. “He’s found her?”

  “No, but apparently, he’s very close.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Sebastian said.

  “It’s the first genuine clue we’ve had.”

  They’d walked into the village and were headed back to Selby Manor. It was a cold, blustery autumn day, the wind lashing the trees, the clouds rushing by. Noah and Petunia were with them too. They were Sir Sidney’s bastard children. Noah was twelve, and Petunia was six.

  They’d visited the church cemetery so Sarah could show them where her Blake relatives were buried. Her father’s grave was there, and she liked to stop by with a bouquet, feeling a desperate need to make up for lost time.

  She couldn’t guess where her mother had been buried. Since her parents hadn’t been wed, the vicar would have refused to hold a funeral for her, and Sarah’s horrid grandfather wouldn’t have allowed her to be interred in the family plot.

  She hoped, once she was reunited with Rebecca, that her sister would have information as to where her mother had been laid to rest. It seemed wrong to Sarah that she didn’t know the site.

  “What do you imagine your sister is like?” Noah asked. “Do you remember her?”

  “I have limited memories of her, but we’re identical twins. I’m betting, after we’re together, you won’t be able to tell us apart.”

  “I’ll be able to,” Petunia said.

  “Why would you think so?” Sarah asked.

  “No one could be as pretty as you.”

  Sarah smiled at her. “You’re sweet to say so, but I swear she and I will be exactly the same.”

  Sebastian tsked with feigned offense. “How will I stand it? It’s exhausting enough to deal with you. How will I bear up if there are two of you? Will she be as bossy and obstinate as you are?”

  Sarah shut her eyes and reached out with her mind. With her having learned about her sister, it was getting easier to silently communicate as they had when they were tiny girls.

  Are you there? she inquired.

  Yes, I’m here.

  I’m searching for you. Where are you?

  Come to me while I’m sleeping.

  Sarah never admitted that she could delve into her sister’s mind. It would sound eerie and too much like witchcraft to be comfortable. But she had told them about her dreams where there was a girl who looked just like her.

  Sarah had grown up assuming Rebecca was her guardian angel, and in a way, that’s precisely what Rebecca had been. She’d watched over Sarah mentally—when she’d been sad or scared or forlorn. And Sarah had done the same for her.

  Sarah had clear visions of her sister so, when she’d apprised Noah that they were just alike, she wasn’t joking. At the moment, Rebecca was up on a cliff and staring out at the ocean.

  I’ll be with you soon…

  She whipped her eyes open, and they were gaping at her, obviously worried about her drifting off, but she would never explain.

  “I’m happy.” She beamed with pleasure. “I was on my own for so long, and now, I have the three of you. I have my brother and Nell, and shortly, I’ll have my sister with me too. Aren’t I lucky?”

  It was the sort of conclusion she’d always pictured for herself, but as the years had rolled by—especially during her recent tragedies—she’d begun to fear none of it would ever occur. Yet look where she’d ended up!

  “I wish you wouldn’t cry again,” Noah said as tears threatened to overwhelm her. “I can’t abide a weeping woman.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I agree. Don’t be upset, Sarah. Everything is perfect.”

  He stepped in and hugged her, and he probably would have kissed her too, but they tried to behave themselves in front of the children.

  “Are you going to kiss her?” Petunia asked, always the romantic.

  “I was considering it,” Sebastian said, “but I should wait until we’re alone.”

  “You can proceed if you want,” Petunia said. “We don’t mind. Well, Noah minds, but he’s a boy, so we don’t have to care what he thinks.”

  “You’re correct, little Petunia. As usual.” Sebastian dipped in and kissed Sarah, adding, “No tears. There’s no reason for you to ever despair.”

  “I’m not maudlin,” Sarah insisted. “I’m merely feeling sentimental because I’m
very, very glad.”

  She linked her fingers with his, and the four of them kept on toward Selby Manor.

  * * * *

  “It’s been quite a day.”

  “I thought the old harpy would drop dead from a massive heart seizure.”

  “We’d never have been that fortunate.”

  Rebecca was walking down the hall to Mr. Shawcross’s room, and she could hear him chatting with his brother. It was late, supper long over, and she should have simply gone to bed, but she’d been too anxious to head there without talking to him first.

  Odd events were happening, and she couldn’t figure out what they indicated. Apparently, he and his brother had commenced the plot they were hatching.

  Clayton had snuck off in the afternoon with some of his friends to revel with an acquaintance in Frinton. Before he’d left, he’d quarreled with Mr. Shawcross—a housemaid had witnessed it through a window—and he’d physically assaulted Clayton.

  Then Beatrice had ridden into Frinton for her monthly visit to Carter Imports. She’d staggered back, looking stricken, and she’d locked herself in her bedchamber, declaring she wouldn’t emerge until she could confer privately with Clayton.

  The staff had prepared a huge meal, but there had only been a handful of people present to eat it. The entire affair had been awkward, and the few stragglers who hadn’t traipsed into Frinton with Clayton had decided they weren’t having any fun and would return to London in the morning.

  Rebecca couldn’t blame them.

  The servants were rabidly gossiping about the Shawcross brothers. Rumor had it that they’d had a vitriolic encounter with Beatrice at the company office, but also that Mr. Shawcross was about to depart for good.

  The news was terribly distressing. When she realized she might never see him again, she felt too despondent to carry on.

  As she approached his door, she’d presumed she was being very furtive, but suddenly, he called, “Rebecca, is that you?”