by Cheryl Holt
“I’m traveling to town next week, so I can deliver them myself. Just gather them, so when I’m ready to depart, we’re not scrambling about, searching for lost documents.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Was there condescension in Kit’s tone? If so, Jacob ignored it.
Kit had grown up with them, and he’d been raised as if he were a Ralston. They’d paid for his upbringing and schooling, but he had a chip on his shoulder. No matter what they’d provided, he’d never believed it was sufficient.
Jacob had tried to persuade him to enlist in the navy when they were sixteen, but he’d been content to tarry at Ralston Place. Eventually, the chance arose for him to become the manager, but occasionally, Jacob wondered if he was regretting his decision. Jacob had spent the prior fourteen years exploring the globe, fighting in battles, and having adventures. Kit had sat in the country, carrying on pretty much as he had when Jacob had first sailed away.
Was Kit bitter? Was he chafing that he hadn’t picked a different path?
Jacob wasn’t prone to deep reflection, so he wasn’t keen to contemplate those questions. Men made choices, and Kit had made his. Jacob wasn’t his nanny, and it wasn’t his burden to guarantee Kit was happy.
He finished his drink and put the glass on the desk. “I should be going. I guess we’re dressing for supper now.”
“It’s what your fiancée tells me, so I have to get moving too or I’ll be late.”
Jacob opened his mouth to comment, then he abruptly closed it. “Gad, I was about to say I preferred the routines we had when Mother was alive.”
Kit shuddered with mock dread. “Perish the thought. I realize I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I can’t claim that I miss her.”
“You are a master of understatement—as always, Mr. Boswell. You stayed and dealt with her, so I didn’t have to. For that favor, I will be eternally grateful.”
“I should be awarded some type of medal, don’t you think?”
“Courage under fire?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Jacob snorted with amusement, stood, and left. He should have proceeded to his bedchamber to change his clothes, but as he reached the stairs, he spun away and headed for the stables. He wasted a bit of time snooping, checking the stalls to see if they were clean, the tack to see if it was oiled and in good condition.
The place was spotless, but then, he’d supposed it would be. The men of the Sanders family had supervised the horses and equipment for decades, perhaps even centuries, and they were sticklers for doing a thorough job.
Finally, he stumbled on Sandy, which had been his goal, but he hadn’t wanted it to appear as if he’d been chasing after the man. He was leaned on a fence, watching the horses frolic, and Jacob dawdled too, watching Sandy watch the animals.
The sun was in the western sky and would begin to set very soon. The air was so fresh, the grass so green. He felt lucky all of a sudden—and very glad to own such a magnificent property.
The powerful swirl of emotion was surprising. Usually, he couldn’t care less about the estate, so maybe he was maturing. Maybe someday, he’d shuck off his unpleasant memories and start to be proud of what he had.
Sandy noticed him and waved, and Jacob used the gesture as an excuse to bluster over and stand beside him. He could never figure out how they should interact. When they were very young, they’d been playmates of a sort.
Not often though. His mother had been too much of a snob to let them socialize, but despite her best efforts to separate them, they’d been chums, little Jacob and Sandy, two rascals who’d snuck away to rollick in secret mischief that he still fondly recollected.
But adulthood and their disparate stations had erected barriers he wasn’t sure how to surmount. They’d once been little Jacob and Sandy. Now they were . . . what?
Only the strictest formality was appropriate.
“It’s a lovely evening, Captain,” Sandy said. “Nice to be out in it.”
“I’m away from England so much. I never really view it like this.”
Their conversation lagged, and the encounter grew awkward. Jacob couldn’t deduce how they were to chat, and ultimately, Sandy said, “I ought to be going. I have to get home to supper with my sons.”
“I hadn’t heard you were married. Who is your wife?”
“You wouldn’t ever have met her, but I’m a widower.” Sandy’s tone indicated he wouldn’t discuss her, and Jacob shouldn’t pry. “My boys are greedy about seeing me at the end of the day. Since their mother passed away, they cling tighter than they should, but I don’t have the heart to be aloof with them.”
“What a refreshing style of parenting.”
Sandy scoffed. “Before I head off to join them, may I assist you with anything?”
“You know Miss James, don’t you? The healer who’s been tending my sister.”
“Everybody knows her.”
“It’s not safe for her to be walking around the neighborhood on her own. What would you think if we loaned her a cart and a horse? It would ease some of her burdens.”
Sandy chuckled. “I’ve already offered them, but she’s too stubborn. Her exact words were, What would I do with a horse?”
Jacob chuckled too. “That sounds like her, so I guess it’s not in the cards to provide them. We can’t force her to accept our help.”
“It’s kind of you to ponder her though. She’s alone in the world—she and that niece of hers—living in the woods like that. She’s content out there, but I fear for them constantly.”
“Maybe one of the local boys will fall in love and wed her. A husband would solve many of her problems.”
“They’re all afraid of her. They claim—if you were her husband and tried to boss her—she might . . .” He cut off the remark. “I like her, and I shouldn’t be crude. Don’t listen to me.”
“Tell me what they say.”
“Well . . . ah . . . that she can cast a spell and shrivel a man’s private parts.”
Jacob blew out an annoyed breath. “People are such idiots.”
“I agree.”
He turned toward Sandy and said, “Why were you and Kit quarreling?”
Sandy gazed at the horses forever, debating his reply. In the end, he chose, “If you’re curious about it, you should ask him.”
“I did ask him, and now, I’m asking you.”
“I wouldn’t like to have a dispute arise between Mr. Boswell and myself.”
“What’s this spat about?” Sandy still didn’t explain, and Jacob said, “Are you scared to confide in me? Why would you be? We’ve been acquainted for three decades. I like to imagine I wouldn’t fly off the handle with you.”
“I have my job and my sons to consider.”
“Your job is safe. Your sons too. Short of embezzling from me, I can’t envision you enraging me sufficiently to where I’d fire you. So I’d appreciate it if you’d be candid.”
“Do you know Widow Barnes?” Jacob shook his head, and Sandy continued. “Her husband was a tenant farmer. He was killed last summer in a threshing accident, and she has six girls to raise on her own. Their roof collapsed, and I’ve been anxious to repair it, but Boswell doesn’t feel we should waste the funds. He thinks they should move on, but they don’t have anywhere to go.”
“What can it cost to repair a widow’s roof? It won’t beggar me, and why would you be the one to worry about it or to fix it? Isn’t it a chore far from your usual duties?”
Sandy glared at him, and Jacob sensed a huge wave of umbrage boiling just below the surface. It was obvious Sandy yearned to divest himself of many heavy issues, and the notion left Jacob incredibly weary.
He never focused much of his attention on the property. When he’d handed the reins to Kit, he’d been delighted to have the load lifted off his shoulders. His interest was and
always would be his career in the navy, and during his brief visits at home, the place seemed in fine shape to him.
In the past, he’d never fretted about it, but he should probably start. If he gave Sandy the slightest opening to vent his frustrations, what might he confess?
“I may remodel the south wing of the manor next spring,” he said.
“While you’re at it, I hope you’ll let me convince you to rebuild the chimneys. They’ve needed to be re-bricked for ages.”
“Thank you for pointing it out. I only mention the remodeling because I’ll be in London next week. I intend to show the estate ledgers to a new team of accountants. What is your opinion about that idea?”
Sandy was so eager to expound that he physically bit down on his bottom lip so no words would escape. Finally, once he was more in control, he said, “I believe that might turn out to be money well spent. Goodnight, Captain.”
He hurried away before Jacob could ask any other questions.
“I have a gift for you.”
Clara’s eyes lit with merriment. “A gift! How splendid!”
Captain Ralston gave her a small package, wrapped in silver paper, and Clara ripped it off in a frenzy. Inside, she found the ribbons he’d told Joanna he’d buy.
Joanna wasn’t a pauper, but they didn’t exactly have funds to purchase frivolities. Except on the rarest occasions, such as Christmas, Clara didn’t get many presents.
“These are so beautiful,” Clara gushed, and she smiled at him, providing plenty of evidence of the beauty she’d grow to be when she was an adult.
“I couldn’t decide which color would look prettiest in your hair,” he said, like the worst flirt, “so I purchased them all.”
“I shall keep them forever!” Clara was wearing her pink dress, and she pulled the pink ribbon from the pile and offered it to Joanna. “Would you put it on for me?”
“I would be delighted.”
Joanna yanked off the old ribbon and attached the new one. She tied a bow on the top of Clara’s head, so she appeared very fetching.
“Is it perfect?” Clara asked.
“Yes, it’s perfect,” Joanna assured her.
“I must see it for myself. May I be excused?”
“Yes, you’re excused, and while you’re preening in the mirror, I’ll escort the Captain out to his horse. How about if you tell him goodbye before you go to your room?”
At hearing he’d depart, Clara was crestfallen. “Must you leave so soon?”
“I’m afraid I must.”
Clara peered over at Joanna. “Could he stay for supper this time?”
“It’s not for hours yet,” Joanna replied, “and I’m certain he’s too busy to tarry.”
Clara turned to the Captain and curtsied to him. “Thank you, Captain. Please visit again when you can. We enjoy having you as our guest.”
He bowed over her hand, and she was so charmed Joanna was amazed she didn’t swoon. Then she flitted away and raced up the stairs.
As the energy from her exit settled, he disturbed her by saying, “She reminds me of someone, but I can’t figure out who.”
“I can’t imagine who it might be.” Joanna was determined to never discuss the topic of who Clara resembled. “Let me walk you out.”
“You’re always in such a hurry to be rid of me.”
“That’s because I have no idea what to do with you when you arrive. Once you step into my parlor, I can’t breathe.”
“I could stay to supper.”
“You could not. How would we entertain you all afternoon?”
“I could just sit in a corner and watch you at your chores. I’d be fascinated.”
“When you shower me with such mesmerizing compliments, it makes me want to like you.”
“You should like me.”
She was staring up at him like a besotted girl, proving she was as smitten as Clara, which was embarrassing. She liked to assume she had better sense, but maybe she didn’t.
She opened the door and left the cottage, not checking if he followed her or not. He was so stubborn. If he refused to obey her, she’d never be able to pry him away.
They went to his horse, but he didn’t immediately mount the animal. He studied the woods as if they concealed numerous villains.
“I’ll never be comfortable with you living here,” he said.
“This has been my home for a whole decade, and I’ve never had any problems. I wish you wouldn’t fret about it so much.”
“Wasn’t your aunt alive for much of that time?”
“She died four years ago.”
“So you had an adult residing with you. Now it’s just you and Clara.”
“I am an adult, Captain. I’m twenty-four.”
“Yes, but you’re such a tiny little thing. You look as if you’re ten.”
“I don’t know if that remark should flatter or annoy me.”
He dipped down and kissed her as she’d been hoping he would since he’d sauntered in.
He’d shown up without warning, and it had been a thrilling surprise. He was quickly training her to pine away for his sudden appearances. Anymore, she could barely concentrate. She constantly thought about him and wondered if he was thinking about her just as intently.
“Could I ask you a question?” he said.
“You can ask me, but I can’t swear I’ll answer.”
“What is your opinion of Kit Boswell?”
“Should I be candid? Or should I lie?”
“Your response matters to me. I’m at Ralston Place so rarely, and when I am, people fawn and fib to make me happy. I’m never positive I’m receiving a clear picture of what’s occurring.”
“I understand, and no, I don’t like Mr. Boswell, but don’t you dare tattle to him. I wouldn’t want to ever be on his bad side. He can be very spiteful, and I wouldn’t ever like his malice directed at me.”
“He’s malicious?”
“Yes, as well as lazy, pompous, and unlikable. He’s probably corrupt too.”
He gazed up at the sky, her words sinking in, and she regretted being so frank. Then he said, “What is your opinion of Sandy?”
“I love Sandy. He’s kind, generous, and incredibly diligent. He’s actually the one who runs the estate for you.”
“What does Mr. Boswell do?”
“Drink? Loaf? Chase trollops?”
He smirked with aggravation. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you questions. That might be more information than I truly sought.”
“Sandy works, and Mr. Boswell takes the credit. It’s the rumor circulating anyway, but isn’t that the way it always is with men?”
“I suppose.” He kissed her again, leaving her even more bewildered about her conduct and choices, then he said, “What about the party on Saturday? Shall I send a carriage?”
It was the topic she’d been dreading. “No, no carriage. I’ve been pondering your invitation, and I shouldn’t rub elbows with your snooty friends.”
“My snooty friends are in London. Saturday at the manor will be a collection of neighbors, and I predict you’ll be acquainted with every guest. You’ll fit right in.”
“I never fit in, so I shouldn’t join you.”
She’d like to bluster in merely to poke a stick at Roxanne Ralston’s pride and audacity, but she had no desire to quarrel with the vicious termagant. Miss Ralston was the type of vengeful person who would get even, and her methods would be devastating and impossible to fight.
“Will I have to enlist my sister to nag at you?” he asked.
“I’m not easy to persuade or dissuade. When I settle on a course, it’s hard to convince me to change my mind.”
“You’re being ridiculous. The carriage will pull in around seven. You’ll have to walk out to the lane though. My driver couldn’t maneuver a vehi
cle through the foliage to your door.”
“You’re being a bully.”
“How am I being a bully? Margaret and I tendered a perfectly valid invitation, and you are being a snot to claim you’re not interested.”
“If I came, what would be your plan once I arrive? Would you flirt with me the entire evening? Would you hover by my side until we stirred gossip? I’d rather not endure such a hideous debacle, and you shouldn’t provoke it either.”
“By refusing to attend, you’ll be saving me from myself?”
“Basically, yes. I’d be saving me too. I don’t want to ever be a spectacle.”
He assessed her, and he was much too astute. “What is this really about? We discussed it previously, and you didn’t have any reservations. What’s happened?”
“Could I just not explain?”
“No. What is it? And again, please be frank. I don’t like to tiptoe on the edge of an issue. I like to delve to the heart of a problem and solve it.”
She stood very still, yearning for a hint of inspiration to drop onto her tongue.
From reading his cards, she’d discovered that Roxanne Ralston wouldn’t be his bride, but she wasn’t always correct in her estimations. What if she told him about Miss Ralston, and he wound up wed to her? Joanna would have created an eternal enemy.
Or what if her reading was accurate, and he didn’t wed Miss Ralston? Was Joanna meant to be the wrench that was thrown into that situation? Was she the catalyst that would tear them apart?
Unfortunately, wisdom and insight were never conveyed when she desperately needed them.
“Will you promise not to become angry?” she inquired.
“How can I promise that when I can’t imagine what you’re about to tell me?”
She decided to leap into the inferno. “Your cousin visited me.”
It took him a moment to deduce which cousin. “Roxanne was here? Why?”
“She pretended it was to buy a potion, but in reality, she ordered me to stay away from all of you. She believes I’m a charlatan, a fake, and a fraud, and I shouldn’t be treating your sister.”
“Roxanne doesn’t speak for me or Margaret, and it appears I have to bluntly clarify that she doesn’t.”
