Always Mine Page 6

  He shoveled food into his mouth as if he was a starving pauper, and she couldn’t hide her disdain. He was her only son, and she should have been proud and fond, but she wasn’t. He’d been a difficult boy to like, and he’d become a surly, rude man. Nor was she the most maternal person. It was hard for them to maintain a firm bond.

  Finally, his plate empty, he shoved it away. He’d had the butler bring in a bottle of brandy, and he splashed some into his tea and swallowed down a hefty gulp.

  “Ah…” he groaned, “hair of the dog. Just what I needed.” He drank a second swallow, then glared over at her. “What are you so eager to discuss? Make it quick, would you? I intend to nap for a few hours before my guests begin to arrive.”

  They were alone, the door shut, the servants shooed out, so it was the perfect moment to address thorny issues. Once his friends were in residence, he’d be busy and distracted and in no mood to talk about business. Then he’d leave for London again, and who could guess when he’d return?

  Clayton was ostensibly in charge of Carter Imports, but he didn’t think he should have to dirty his hands in the commerce that was their sole source of revenue. He attended no meetings, strategized with no employees, convened with no ship captains or suppliers.

  He left it all to Beatrice, but she wasn’t very adept at management. Men hated dealing with a woman. They wouldn’t listen to her, heed her suggestions, or carry out her orders, and she didn’t trust any of them.

  As to Clayton, he simply spent like an aristocrat, believing money grew on trees and would never run out. He was such a fool, but she couldn’t tell him he was. If she tried, he’d stomp out and their conversation would be over.

  He’d never been informed of the shaky underpinnings by which she and Charles had bought the estate and started Carter Imports. It had been accomplished with what some people might have called stolen assets.

  Not that Beatrice would call it that. Not that Charles would have admitted it. But they’d pilfered it from Charles’s old boss, Harrison Stone.

  After Charles’s lengthy embezzlement had been exposed, after he’d shifted the blame to innocent, clueless, Harrison, Mrs. Stone had visited Beatrice. In what had definitely sounded like a curse, she’d warned, Everything you plan will collapse. My husband’s ghost will haunt you forever. None of your dreams will come true.

  Beatrice had never forgotten those words, and they still had the power to rattle her. With how Charles had dropped dead without notice, with how indolent and spoiled her children had turned out to be, with how Clayton was addicted to vice and drink, it certainly seemed as if Mrs. Stone’s admonition had been an omen.

  She tamped down a shudder and pushed the disturbing memory away.

  “It’s Carter Imports,” she said. “The books are a mess, and our accountant insists we’re on the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “Is that all?” He tsked with exasperation and waved away her comment. “You needn’t fret.”

  “How can I not? We’re not noblemen. We own a shipping company, and it’s how we earn our income. If it folds, how—precisely—will we support ourselves?”

  “I found a silent partner, so our problems are solved. Quit nagging.”

  “What sort of silent partner? What do you mean?”

  “A lawyer approached me. He had a client who was interested in making some investments, particularly in imports and exports. He’s willing to shore up our ledgers with a huge infusion of cash.”

  The scenario was too good to be true, and she scowled. “Why would a rich man assist us?”

  “He has some sugar and rum plantations in the West Indies, and he thinks he can use our vessels to lower his shipping costs.”

  “Can he?”

  Clayton scoffed. “Gad, no. If a wealthy idiot wants to hand me a fortune, it doesn’t follow that I have to hand him a boon in exchange.”

  “I suppose we could consider an agreement. Why don’t you provide me with the contracts, and I’ll have our banker and accountant look into it.”

  “I’ve already agreed to bring him on, Mother.”

  “But you didn’t seek my opinion.”

  “It’s my company. Why would your permission be required?”

  “You’re not exactly skilled in business matters.”

  “Neither are you,” he snidely retorted.

  She was wary and alarmed. “What are you expecting to happen?”

  “I’m expecting that my purse is about to be filled with the dolt’s money.”

  “Do you even know who he is?” she asked.

  “What part of silent investor don’t you understand? No, I don’t know, but it will be fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to take that nap I mentioned.”

  “There is one more thing,” she said before he could scoot out.

  He sighed heavily, as if she was the greatest burden in the world. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been pondering the boy.”

  They never spoke the little bastard’s name. There was no need. Clayton was aware to whom she referred. According to him, he’d only sired one illegitimate child. If she ever discovered there were more, she couldn’t predict how she’d react.

  “What about him?” Clayton sneered.

  “He’s ten. We should make arrangements for him.”

  “What kind of arrangements?”

  “He could start an apprenticeship. Or we could enlist him in the army.”

  “I’m not about to waste funds buying him an internship or a military spot.”

  “He could join as a private when he’s twelve. That way, we wouldn’t have to put up any money. If nothing else, we should send him away to boarding school.”

  “I just told you I won’t waste the funds.” He frowned. “Why this sudden urge to be shed of him?”

  “He’s growing up, and he can’t stay here forever. He has to learn a trade or get an education, so he can eventually support himself.”

  “Why would I care if he can support himself or not? I can’t fathom why he’s living here now. It’s still a mystery to me why you allowed him to come in the first place.”

  It was a mystery to Beatrice too, and she’d never had a viable explanation. A vicar had called on her and demanded she shelter the boy. He’d been such a stern, righteous fellow that she hadn’t been able to decline.

  It had been the same with Rebecca. Her lofty relatives had insisted Beatrice help her after her mother died, and Beatrice hadn’t known how to refuse. She hadn’t thought Godwin Blake, Rebecca’s grandfather, would let her refuse.

  At least she’d dumped off Rebecca’s twin and had avoided that obligation. On the day Beatrice had been forced to take Rebecca home, her twin—a tiny runt named Sarah—had been sickly and coughing incessantly as if she’d contracted lung fever. Beatrice had managed to skate away with one girl rather than two. It was a small blessing, and Rebecca hadn’t turned out that bad.

  She worked like a dog, groveled like a slave, and was unceasingly biddable. It was like having a competent servant, but never having to pay her any wages.

  “I won’t have the boy flaunting himself to any of your friends,” she said.

  Clayton blanched, as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him. “He better not.”

  “I warned Rebecca to keep him out of sight, and our conversation simply underscored the problem of having him on the premises. We should get rid of him.”

  “If you want to be rid of him, I have no opinion about it. Just don’t request that I fork over any money or effort for it to transpire.”

  He stood to march out, and she felt slighted and weary. It didn’t seem as if they’d discussed any of the important subjects facing them.

  “When will the Sinclair team member arrive?” she asked. “I should tell the servants so they can make a special fuss.”

  “I have no idea, but he’s attending the party tomorrow night. His brother will accompany him, so they’ll require two rooms.”

/>   “How did you cross paths with such a famous man?”

  “He was in London for the inquest about Sir Sidney’s death. We played cards at my club, and we’ve become cordial.”

  “It will be interesting to meet him.”

  “He’s a severe, ruthless person—sort of like you. You’ll probably like him very much.”

  Then he was gone, and she eased back in her chair.

  For the next two weeks, the house would be crammed with guests, so she’d be occupied with various tasks as hostess, but the minute she had an extra second, she’d visit their banker to talk about Clayton’s new partner.

  Clayton was an inept dunce, and he had no ability to judge a man’s character. She only had to look at his friends who were all dandies and wastrels. Most of them lived in profligate circumstances, but couldn’t afford their ostentatious existences.

  There was no telling what type of associate had glommed onto him, and she was terrified over the debacle that might unfold because of it. She had to start an investigation and start it fast.

  Her fiscal security was always in jeopardy because of Clayton’s reckless ways, and she wasn’t about to let some unknown idiot make things even worse.

  * * * *

  “Hello, Miss Carter.”

  “Hello, Mr. Melville. What brings you by?”

  “I’m coming to your brother’s birthday party.”

  “So is the whole neighborhood,” Millicent said more snottily than she’d intended.

  His smile slipped, and he yanked it into place. “You’re so popular. I thought I should ask you to dance the opening set with me—before anyone else has a chance.”

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  “And if you’re not busy this afternoon, I was wondering if you’d like to go for a ride. I drove my gig in case I can coerce you into joining me.”

  They were in front of the manor. He frequently popped in, eager to catch her at her leisure, so she’d have no excuse to avoid him. She tamped down a sigh, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but she couldn’t help it.

  They’d been acquainted for over a year, and she supposed—technically—they had an understanding about the future. His grandfather had been the vicar, and after he’d passed away, the family had left the area for a few decades. Now Mr. Melville was back and hoping to be selected as the new vicar. The job included a small income and a modest residence for a parsonage.

  The appointment never seemed to materialize though, and he couldn’t get answers from church officials. Apparently, the Good Lord worked slowly and couldn’t be rushed, which—in her opinion—was just as well.

  If the post was finally offered to him, he’d likely propose immediately. Her mother was fine with the match, mostly because there weren’t many bachelors in the neighborhood, and Beatrice wasn’t keen to have her daughter marry someone from another town where she might end up moving far away.

  Millicent had constantly begged to have a Season in town, where she could have been introduced to a more elevated group of candidates, but Beatrice had refused to pay for it. So Millicent was stuck at Carter Crossing, with Preston Melville as her only suitor.

  Yet she viewed him as her backup plan. He was very nice and not bad looking: thirty, thin and dapper, with unremarkable brown hair and kindly brown eyes. But he was short, probably five-foot-nine or so, and with her being five-foot-five in her slippers, he wasn’t much taller than she was. It was impossible for him to tower over her in a manly way.

  He was steady, sympathetic, and reliable though. He’d be a marvelous husband and father, but he was so boring! She thought—if she was forced to spend decades as his wife—she’d go insane from how dull it would be.

  Her whole life had been boring. Carter Crossing was boring. Her mother and brother were boring. Their rural world was boring. Clayton was a male, so he’d been allowed to gambol in town. He’d had an illicit amour and had even sired a bastard child. That’s how exciting his existence had been.

  She was a female, so she’d had to tarry in the country with her mother and be courted by a tedious oaf whose great goal was to be their next vicar. Her cousin, Rebecca, was the lone person who delivered any stimulation or gaiety to their humdrum home.

  Millicent was already twenty, and she felt she deserved a much grander spouse than Preston Melville, but she was on the verge of being a spinster. She’d told herself that she’d dither until her birthday, and if she hadn’t met a viable contender by the time she turned twenty-one, she’d swallow her pride and settle for ordinary, dependable Preston.

  “I can’t socialize this afternoon,” she said. “My brother just arrived, and his friends are beginning to roll in from town. It’s too hectic.”

  “I will admit to being horribly disappointed.” He smiled a sweet smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow night—if not before!”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He went over to his gig. It was painted bright yellow, with huge red wheels, and it was such a flashy vehicle for a man who was expecting to be a minister. When he bounced down their rustic lanes, he created quite a spectacle.

  She suspected he’d purchased it to impress her, and she wouldn’t deny that it was very fun to race down the road in it. But the gaudy carriage couldn’t fix what was wrong between them.

  He climbed up, having a bit of trouble maneuvering the high step, then he plopped onto the seat and grabbed the reins.

  “Don’t forget you promised me the first dance!” he cheerily said, and he called to the horse.

  The animal took off like a shot and nearly threw him out into the dirt. He was clutching his hat, struggling to balance himself, and failing to make the dramatic exit she was sure he’d been yearning to make.

  After he vanished, she wandered over to the stables. She’d heard the housemaids tittering over the horse traders who’d brought Clayton’s horses to the estate for him. Supposedly, they were too handsome for words. Millicent was dying to catch a glimpse of them, and she’d come outside numerous times without managing to stumble on them.

  She was terribly afraid they might leave before she had a chance to chat with either of them. It was rare when a bachelor visited. Of course several of them would attend her brother’s party, but she’d met Clayton’s friends. For the most part, they were lazy, rich, unlikable idiots.

  As she approached the corral, a man was standing over by the water trough. She observed him, her interest extreme. He was a few years older than she was, twenty-four or so, and he was tall and lanky, with black hair and very blue eyes. He saw her and focused in on her with a grin she felt clear down to her toes.

  With her blond hair and blue eyes, her curvaceous figure and expensive clothes, she knew she was gorgeous, and as she sauntered over to him, he didn’t stop watching her for a single second. He stared at her as if she was a delicious morsel, and he might gobble her up. He was being very impertinent, and she was thrilled to the marrow of her bones.

  “You must be Miss Millicent,” he said, his hot gaze meandering down her torso.

  She gave her fetching curls a firm shake. “I might be.”

  “I’ve been hoping we’d cross paths.”

  The comment was exhilarating. “You have? Why?”

  “The stable hands were talking about you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What were they saying?”

  “They claim you’re pretty as a picture, but spoiled rotten.”

  She couldn’t decide whether to be offended or not. She liked to have people talk about her, but it didn’t seem appropriate for it to be the male servants.

  “I’m not spoiled,” she said. “I’m fussy.”

  “Are you?”

  He sidled over to her, and he had a smooth, casual stride, as if he glided through life without any barriers to obstruct him.

  “I’m Lucas,” he said.

  “Lucas what?”

  “Just…Lucas.”

  “Well, Mr. Just Lucas, I have to in
form you that you’re being incredibly forward.”

  “Girls always insist I am, but usually, they end up being glad. How about you? Do you think you’ll end up being glad?”

  “I have no idea. As I mentioned, I’m fussy.”

  “I’m betting you’ll like me.”

  She tsked with exasperation. “You’re so cocky. After I get to know you, I might not like you at all.”

  “I doubt that. There’s never been a girl who didn’t fall in love with me.”

  “You might be the vainest person I’ve ever encountered.”

  “You might be right.” He stepped even closer, so close her cloak swirled around his legs. “Can you guess what else the stable hands say about you?”

  “No, what? And if it’s horrid, I’ll have a few of them whipped. Then they won’t be so quick to gossip about their betters.”

  “They told me you have a beau.”

  She shrugged. “I might have.”

  “According to them, he’s boring and persnickety, and in my view, you’re feisty and spirited. Why would you shackle yourself to a dreary dolt?”

  “I’m not promised yet. We’re just friends.” She stuck her nose up in the air. “Don’t denigrate him. He’s actually very nice.”

  “Is that what you’re looking for in a man? A fellow who’s nice?”

  “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not.”

  “Would you like to know a secret about me?” he asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m not ever nice.”

  He leaned down so they were nose to nose, and he slipped a hand inside her cloak and rested it on her waist. He was being so flirtatious that she wondered if he might kiss her. Was that what he intended? What an insolent devil!

  She might have squirmed away, but she wasn’t about to let him discover how he intimidated her. Nor did she want the moment to conclude. She was quite breathless, eager to learn what he planned.

  “I hear your mother watches you like a hawk,” he said.

  “She does, but I can sneak away if I feel like it.”

  “I’m going out to the beach tonight. Probably around ten—after it’s good and dark.”