by Cheryl Holt
“I am really here.”
She’d had the servants bring a desk down from the attic. She was seated at it, and as he plopped onto the chair across, she said, “I feel like we’re about to commence an employment interview. Will you show me your references?”
“Definitely not. If you learned too much about me, I might not be offered the position.”
She chuckled and studied him, recalling—with a great amount of relief—that he was very handsome. It wouldn’t be difficult to be his bride, and the biggest advantage would be that he was rarely home and wasn’t retiring from the navy any time soon.
She’d wed him, then he’d sail off into the sunset. She was very fussy, and she liked to be in charge, so she’d hate to have a husband around and underfoot. She wouldn’t like to have him counting every farthing and berating her over how she spent his money.
She waved a stack of papers at him. “I’m working on the party.”
“So I heard. I thought I should pop in and see if I could assist you. Are you overwhelmed?”
“No, I’m managing. I figured a two-week fete would be best. Is that all right with you?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I assume you’ll give me a budget.”
“I don’t need to. Just don’t beggar me. I’m not too keen on pomp or ostentation, so try not to over-do. As long as we entertain in moderation, I won’t have any complaints.”
“I should check the guest list with you. I nagged at Kit until he suggested acquaintances and cousins he insisted you’d like, but is there anyone I shouldn’t invite?”
“I can’t think of anyone to omit, but there are three people I’d like you to add.”
“Who are they?” She dipped a quill in the ink jar, the tip poised to write.
“Don’t faint,” he said, “but I’d like to include my half-brothers and their guardian, Sybil Jones.”
Her jaw dropped in surprise. “You want to invite Caleb and Blake Ralston? And Miss Jones? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother will be spinning in her grave.”
He shrugged. “It’s the saddest aspect of dying. You’re not around to tell the living how to behave.”
“You are horrid, Captain Ralston.”
She snickered with amusement, then jotted down the names, but her mind was awhirl as she struggled to deduce how she felt about it. She’d have to warn Margaret. Depending on Margaret’s assessment, they might have to dissuade Jacob.
Miles Ralston had been Jacob and Margaret’s famous father, but he was also father to Caleb and Blake Ralston. To the astonishment of the entire family—most especially Jacob’s mother, Esther—Miles had been a bigamist.
During the years he’d been posted to the Caribbean, he’d had a second wife. No one in England had been cognizant of the disgraceful predicament until after Miles had passed away. Caleb and Blake had lost their mother shortly afterward, and their vicar in Jamaica had sent them to their British relatives.
Miss Jones had traveled with them, and she’d been a vicious sentinel, intent on protecting their interests. If it had been left up to Esther, the two boys might have starved on the streets. As it was, she’d promptly escorted them off the property, then had refused to convene with them again.
Miss Jones had marched directly to the navy and had demanded Ralston support for Caleb and Blake and that it be commensurate to their station as Miles’s sons. To keep Miss Jones quiet, the navy had brokered an agreement with Esther where she’d paid for their schooling, then their navy commissions when they’d turned sixteen.
In exchange, everyone had promised to refrain from ever mentioning the thorny dilemma.
But Esther was dead now, and Jacob was head of the family. If he wanted to establish a relationship with his half-brothers, it probably wasn’t any of Roxanne’s business. Or was it? On the spur of the moment, she couldn’t decide.
“Are you certain about this?” she asked him.
“No, but I’m doing it anyway. The involved combatants—the two wives and the one husband—are deceased. There’s no reason for their children to carry on the fight.”
“That is a very generous attitude.”
“Or maybe I’m going mad in my old age.”
“Maybe.”
They smiled, and it occurred to her that she’d enjoy climbing into his bed. With his being a sailor, he’d know his way around a mattress. She wouldn’t have to teach him any tricks.
“I have a question,” she said, “and you don’t have to answer immediately. You can think about it.”
“What is it?”
“We’re announcing our betrothal in September, then we’re to wed the following spring when you’re in England again, but it’s silly to delay that long. What if we moved up the date and wed before your current furlough ends?”
“We’d proceed right after the engagement party?”
“We could hold the wedding the last day of the party—while the guests are here.” She kept her expression carefully blank. “It’s just a thought. I can’t convince myself that we must wait until next spring. It was your mother’s plan, but as you pointed out, she’s not present to tell us how to act.”
His expression was blank too, so she had no idea how he viewed the suggestion. Ultimately, he said, “It might work. Let me ponder it.”
“No hurry, no worry.”
He stood and started for the door, but he peered back and said, “I spoke to Margaret this morning. Mr. Howell left her penniless, and she’s been fretting about her situation.”
“She told me. I wish he was still alive so I could wring his neck.”
“She’s been afraid I’d kick her out. More specifically, she’s been afraid that you might be opposed to her tarrying, but I assured her she’s welcome to stay at Ralston Place—forever if she’d like. I assume you don’t have a problem with that notion.”
He stared at her in a steely manner, as if he was administering a test, and her reply was simple. “I love Margaret. How could I have a problem with her staying?”
It was an easy lie to spew, and he swallowed it, then he strolled out. She listened as his booted strides faded down the hall. Once it was silent again, she blew out a heavy breath.
She liked Margaret, but the house was Margaret’s childhood home, so she felt a poignant attachment to it. But Roxanne was about to be mistress of the manor, so she and Margaret would get on fine—if Margaret continued to mope in her bedchamber. If she began to complain about Roxanne’s management, then they’d quarrel.
Margaret would accede to Roxanne’s demands, or Roxanne would make her so miserable that she’d leave. About that pertinent fact, Roxanne had no doubt at all. She was finally at the spot she’d been meant to occupy, and she wouldn’t be thwarted over any issue.
From the time she was a girl, there had been talk of her marrying Jacob, but at fifteen, she’d committed a blunder that had wrecked her chance. She’d spent a decade in Italy, and now, she had the opportunity to rectify her prior mistake.
Over the winter, when his mother, Esther, had contacted her and offered the match, Roxanne had shuddered with relief and had fled Florence in an instant.
She and Jacob were plodding along at the slow schedule Esther had set prior to her death, but Roxanne couldn’t follow it. There was a huge scandal dragging after her from Italy—namely two lovers dueling over her—and she had to have Jacob’s ring on her finger before it caught up with her in England.
After they tied the knot, if he heard any stories, she would vehemently deny them. And if he refused to believe her? She’d be his bride, and it would be too late for him to do anything about it.
Kit Boswell lurked in the doorway of the parlor Roxanne had turned into her office. There was a mirror on the wall, and he wasn’t surprised to find her preening in front of it. She was absolutely fixated on her looks.
; She was as strikingly beautiful as she’d been when they were adolescents, but the years had added a maturity to her features so she appeared even more exotic. She had white-blond hair and coal-black eyes that shouldn’t have blended in a pleasing way, but on her, they were mesmerizing. He’d certainly thought so when he’d been younger.
She was willowy, possessed of a feminine figure that caused men to stop and gape when she walked by. She knew it though, and she enjoyed tormenting the oafs who danced to her tune. He’d never be one of them again.
Esther had completed the betrothal without informing him. If she had, he’d have had a few comments to share that might have prevented it, but his opinion hadn’t been sought.
Roxanne had waltzed in before he’d realized she was scheduled to arrive. He’d been stunned to see her, but he’d swiftly regrouped. She had no secrets from him, and he wondered how he could use them to his own benefit.
“Well, well,” he said, his tone taunting, “if it isn’t Captain Ralston’s glowing fiancée.”
She whipped around and glared. “Why are you pestering me, Kit? Don’t you have herds to tend or trees to prune? Surely there’s a chore to occupy you.”
“I’m totally at leisure, so I decided we should chat.”
“You may not be busy, but I am. Why don’t you scurry off to some other parlor? There must be someone in this house who would be glad to fuss with you. I’m not sorry to report that it isn’t me.”
“You’re awfully rude—when you so desperately need my help.”
“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re indispensable to me.”
“I’ve made myself indispensable. Jacob and I are like brothers. If you’re not nice to me, what link can you boast that will keep you safe with him?”
“I’ll be his wife, which will put me quite a bit higher on the ladder than you. Best watch yourself.”
He snorted with amusement and sauntered into the room. There was a brandy decanter tucked behind a vase. She liked to act as if she was modest and retiring, but she had more vices than any female in the kingdom. A passionate taste for liquor was just one of her many bad habits.
He poured himself a glass, then went over to the window to gaze outside.
“I didn’t offer you a drink,” she testily protested.
“I don’t care.”
She huffed with offense, then sat down at the desk. She sifted through her papers, pretending to ignore him, but she couldn’t.
“Miss James is coming across the park,” he said. “Could she be a witch? It’s the gossip among the stable boys.”
“Honestly. There’s no such thing as witches. Don’t be absurd.”
“Apparently, she can cast spells and brew magic potions. You should have her tell your future. Or might you be too afraid of what you’d learn?”
“If anybody should be afraid, it’s you.”
“I don’t like her constantly showing up here,” he said. “Why is she? She’s unwed and much too fetching. It simply stirs up the male servants.”
“Margaret must be having another fit of the vapors.”
“Now, now,” he snidely chided, “don’t be snotty about your sister-in-law. She had a terrible marriage, and she’s struggling to recover.”
“I can’t abide weak, trembling ninnies. Nor can I understand how a woman would let herself be abused. Mr. Howell has dropped dead, so she’s free. She should quit whining and celebrate.”
“Were you aware that Jacob visited Miss James at her cottage?”
He peeked over his shoulder, delighted to see Roxanne freeze. She feigned nonchalance with him, but she wasn’t very good at it.
“He visited her? So what?”
“It’s just her and her niece. He was worried that it might be dangerous for them, living in such an isolated spot.”
“Again, Kit, so what? Why mention it to me?”
Miss James was fascinating and bewildering, and she exuded an air of vulnerability so a man wanted to protect her. Roxanne was the exact opposite. She didn’t comprehend how to persuade a man to need her. She simply blustered forward toward her goal, shoving dolts out of her path, and he was curious how she’d fare with Jacob.
Kit predicted it would be like a grueling carriage accident, and of course, he’d wedge wrenches into their relationship. When he detested her so vehemently, it was the least he could do.
“How are the party plans progressing?” he asked.
“You’re not interested in the party, and I’m not discussing it with you.”
“I’m Jacob’s devoted agent. I have to be interested in every facet of the estate.”
She blew out a scoff. “Pigs might fly someday, I suppose.”
“How is the guest list? Will we have any intriguing people joining us? Or will it be a bunch of stuffy Ralston aunties and cousins? You two have such tedious kin.”
“If you must know, Mr. Estate Agent, Jacob is inviting Caleb and Blake Ralston.”
He blanched with astonishment. “You’re joking.”
She smirked. “No, I’m not.”
“Gad, Esther will be spinning in her grave.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“Will you send them an invitation? Or will you claim you forgot?”
“I can hardly forget. He specifically requested I handle it.” She leaned back and raised a brow. “Here’s some news that should distress you. We’ve talked about moving up the wedding date. I may be Mrs. Jacob Ralston much sooner than you were expecting.”
“Why the rush, Roxanne?” He cast a contemptuous glance at her belly. “Is there a little bun in the oven? And if there is a bun, how are we to be sure Jacob is the baker?”
“There’s no bun, as you so crudely put it.”
“What’s driving you then? Why am I suspecting there are rumors trailing after you from Italy?” Most times, she was unflappable, but at his comment, her cheeks heated, and he realized he’d hit on the truth. “You must be anxious to get a ring on your finger before your antics there are exposed. Is that it?”
“Shut up, Kit.”
He downed his brandy, walked over to the desk, and slammed down the glass. “The scandal must be hideous—if you can’t let Jacob find out. Is it another baby? Will you spit out a second bastard that must be concealed from the world?”
She bristled ferociously, then grabbed a letter opener and leapt to her feet. She poked the tip into his chest so deeply that it would leave a small tear in the fabric of his shirt.
“If you ever breathe a word about that again, I’ll murder you,” she said. “I won’t hesitate. You think you’re smarter and more important than me. You think you have a huge secret to hold over my head, but I hold the same secret over yours.”
“It thrills me to envision telling Jacob some of your sins. He truly has no idea what sort of person you are. Shouldn’t he be apprised?”
“I wonder how he’d view some of your sins,” she tossed back. “What if he discovered what we’d done all those years ago? Your cozy job wouldn’t last very long. If Jacob threw you out, you lazy fiend, who else would have you?”
She pushed him away and plopped down on her chair. She glowered at him, her loathing clear, but his was clear too. Their malice oozed out, and he had to give her credit. In any battle, she was a worthy opponent.
“Touché, Roxanne.” He nodded. “It seems we are to be conspirators in guaranteeing Jacob is happy with his choice of bride.”
“He’ll be happy with me. I’ve been waiting since I was a girl to have this marriage happen, and nothing will prevent it.”
“If your marriage is spoiled, it won’t be because of me.”
“You better hope not.”
“You’d better too.”
It wasn’t the pithiest parting remark, but she’d exhausted him. He spun on his heel and marched out.
/>
“Hold it right there, Miss James!”
Jacob trotted up behind her, relieved to see that she halted. She was such an impertinent wench that it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d continued on, despite his sharp command. He wedged his horse in very close, blocking her way so she couldn’t skirt on by.
“Hello, Captain.”
“Where is your dog today?”
“He ran off, but I expect he’ll be back. He never vanishes for long.”
“You were just at the manor.”
“Yes, I brewed some tinctures for the housekeeper. She likes to have them available for when your servants are feeling poorly.”
“So I heard. I also heard that, while you were there, you stitched a cut, treated a cough, and tended my sister whose fever is plaguing her. Have I neglected to mention any of your antics?”
“I don’t believe so, but why are you glaring at me? Should I have not treated them? Will you order me to stay away?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to have you helping people. Just promise you won’t kill anyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can be so absurd. Is that all you came to say? I should try not to kill anyone? I’m busy, as usual, and you’re not. I have chores.”
“You seem to have forgotten our prior conversation. Did I—or did I not—ask you to inform me whenever you visited?”
“I didn’t suppose you were serious.”
“I’m always serious. You are not to ever stop by without pausing to chat with me.”
She frowned. “Why are you so insistent about it?”
“I have no idea, but you’ll oblige me anyway.”
“Fine. On future occasions, I’ll have you summoned.”
“That’s more like it. Where are you off to? It appears you’re headed to your cottage. Climb up, and I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m not letting you take me home.”
“Why not?”
“First off, I don’t like horses. They’re big and . . . big.”
“You liar. You love them so much that you can talk to them.”
