by Cheryl Holt
He shook his head with disgust. He’d just bluntly informed her that he was severing their amour, and she’d agreed to his edict without argument or tears, so he could hardly complain that she wasn’t weeping.
Then she said the very worst thing: “You’d better go.”
Was there any reason to refuse? “Yes, I suppose I should.”
“Please don’t come again. This will hurt me for a bit, and I’ll have to reconfigure my world without you in it.”
It was a poignant declaration, and exactly the kind he’d been dying to hear from her, but as she uttered it, she was completely preoccupied, as if she’d already moved on to more important concerns.
“I won’t pester you in the future,” he said. “I swear.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She scowled. “You won’t force us to leave, will you? You won’t kick us out? I’ve been fretting about that. Once you’re married, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to remain here.”
At the prospect of her departing, his heart actually seized in his chest. “No, don’t be silly. You won’t have to ever leave.”
“That’s good to know.”
She stood and went to the door, and he dawdled on his chair, staring at the fire. A voice in his head was shouting, Are you an idiot? Are you a fool? Don’t do this! Not when you’re so happy with her!
But Margaret was correct: It was cruel and immoral to trifle with her.
He stood and walked to the door too. He couldn’t bear to depart without kissing her goodbye, but when he would have tried, she stepped away, providing the distinct message that he shouldn’t dare.
Mutt had been loafing by the hearth, and he said to the dog, “Will you accompany me?”
Apparently, the dog was over him too. He slunk down on his paws, indicating he’d rather not.
He trudged out without another word. After all, what was there to say?
As he climbed onto his horse, she closed her door, and he tarried for a minute or two, thinking she’d peek out the window, but she didn’t. He sighed with regret, with remorse, then he yanked on the reins and trotted away without looking back.
“This is the most fantastic story ever!” Clara gushed. “It’s like a fairytale in a book.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Joanna said. “Grab your cloak and bonnet. We should be going.”
They’d just had breakfast, but they’d delayed so Clara could read the articles in the newspaper. If they didn’t hurry, she’d be late for school.
“Can I tell my classmates about it?” she asked.
“Yes, but they’ll probably already have heard. I bet it’s spreading like wildfire.”
“You haven’t seen Miss Carstairs since you were returned to England. Don’t you miss her?”
“I’ve missed her every second since we were parted.”
“I hate to imagine her being in jail.”
“I doubt she’ll be there for long. I’m sure someone will post her bail. She’s England’s darling, and everyone loves her—”
“Except Lord Roland!”
“Yes, except for him, so she won’t languish.”
Clara frowned. “Should we travel to London? Should we help her?”
“That is a splendid suggestion, but I have no idea how to post a person’s bail after she’s been arrested.”
“When did Captain Ralston bring the newspaper?”
“Last night, after you were in bed.”
“Drat! I didn’t get to talk to him. Will he stop by today? He may have learned more details about Miss Carstairs.”
“He won’t be stopping by.”
Clara must have noted a somber tone in her comment because she asked, “Today or ever?”
“Not ever again. It’s why he called on me last night. He and I have become too cordial, but it isn’t fitting.”
“He kissed you!”
“Yes, and I shouldn’t have let him. It was shameful for both of us to misbehave so flagrantly.”
“I guess this means you won’t be marrying him.”
Joanna snorted. “It would never have happened, and it’s a mystery to me why you were so certain.”
“It might be impossible, but I can still wish for it.”
“True, but as with many other of my secrets, please don’t discuss my relationship with him. There are several people who would be upset about it, and we shouldn’t make them angry.”
They bundled up, then they went to the door and walked outside. As they started off, Clara said, “I don’t understand adults. Why can’t he be friends with you? Why is it so wrong?”
“We were a bit more than friends. That was the problem, and we couldn’t solve it.”
“Why is it a problem?” Clara mulishly asked. “You’re pretty, nice, and smart. He’d be lucky to have you as his wife.”
“I’ll keep telling myself that.”
Mutt came up and nuzzled her fingers, sensing her woe in a particularly potent way. She laid her palm on his head, having him absorb some of her anguish. He never minded. He was good at whisking it away from her.
The Captain had been so morose when he’d sat in her parlor. She didn’t suppose he’d really wanted to end their liaison, and it was galling to discover that his sister had demanded it—and he’d immediately complied. Joanna had assumed Mrs. Howell liked her, that they’d established a bond, but what had she expected from someone who viewed herself as being so exalted?
If Joanna’s awful father had wed her mother, she’d be perched at a very high level and able to snobbishly glare down on Mrs. Howell and Captain Ralston. They never realized it though, and she never mentioned it.
He’d actually had the temerity to lecture her about how she was growing too attached. He figured she was like the silly debutantes of his acquaintance, that she would simply die of heartbreak if he didn’t marry her. But she was too tough to rue and regret, and she would never allow a man to make her feel inferior. She especially wouldn’t allow Jacob Ralston to do it.
She was one of the three Lost Girls who, against all odds, had survived a shipwreck in the Caribbean when she was four. It had imbued her with a strength Captain Ralston had never previously encountered.
He thought he was marvelous and that she was fortunate he’d deigned to notice her. Well, the joke was on him! He was fortunate she’d noticed him. The women of her ancient line had taught her that conceit.
The males of the species sucked up too much energy from the females in their lives, and she didn’t have the patience to put up with his pompous posturing.
She would give herself a week to mourn the loss of him. She would fondly reminisce over their furtive meetings, but she’d also remember that those meetings had been so clandestine he couldn’t talk about them aloud. He deemed her to be that disreputable.
Yes, she’d recall him fondly, and she’d sigh whenever a memory surfaced, but she’d move on without glancing back. There wasn’t a man in the world who could devastate her, and Captain Ralston definitely couldn’t.
Mutt nudged her hand again, and he stared up at her. He appeared to be frowning, as if he knew she was lying to herself, but she forced a smile and continued on, as if she was leaving Jacob Ralston far behind.
“Why don’t you marry her and get it over with?”
Jacob glared at Kit and asked, “Why would that ridiculous idea have occurred to you?”
Kit shrugged. “It was just a suggestion. There’s no need to bite my head off.”
“I won’t have you conspiring with Roxanne to coerce me. I’m perfectly capable of picking the date for my wedding without any help from you.”
They were in the library, having a brandy before they left to dress for supper. He was seated at the desk, and Kit was in the chair across. There were guests coming, but he was too grumpy to socialize with people he couldn’t abide. He
’d expected some liquor would calm his dour mood, but so far, it wasn’t working.
“I’m not trying to aggravate you,” Kit said, “but I don’t see why you’d put it off for another year. I realize it was your mother’s plan, but when did you ever listen to her on any topic?”
“Gad, Kit, let it rest, would you?”
“If the nuptial state was winging toward me, I’d hurry to the altar so I didn’t have a chance to reconsider.”
“Your opinion is noted.”
Two weeks had passed since the awful night he’d visited Joanna, and he was grouchy as a wounded bear. He’d agreed with Margaret that he was conducting himself dishonorably, so he’d severed his connection with Joanna, but the decision felt so wrong.
In the meantime, he’d been dancing attendance on Roxanne, struggling to become better acquainted, but it was a losing proposition. They had nothing in common, and their stark differences were irritating him in a manner that was difficult to ignore.
If he staggered into the marriage, the disparities would grow more pronounced. They’d start to hate each other, and gradually, they’d live apart. It was how his parents had carried on, their dislike festering until his father vanished and never returned. They’d hardly known him and had to rely on the likes of Libby Carstairs to hear stories as to what he was like.
Jacob refused to immerse himself in such a debacle, so now what?
On top of his issues with the engagement, he’d received a preliminary report from his accounting firm in London. Huge amounts of money were missing, and Kit had been in charge for over a decade. Jacob wasn’t yet ready to accuse anyone of stealing, most especially Kit.
He hoped it would boil down to a case of gross mismanagement, but what was worse? Embezzlement or incompetence?
He and Kit were on the edge of a monumental quarrel he was loathe to initiate. He’d have to level threats and demand improved behavior, but he was simply anxious for things to limp along as they always had, with people doing their jobs so Jacob didn’t have to worry about what was happening when he was away.
“I have a question,” Kit said, “but with you being so peevish, I’m not keen to pose it.”
“Just ask me. Don’t be an ass about it.”
“I’ve been pondering the gamekeeper’s cottage where Miss James resides.”
“What about it?”
“I have a tenant who needs a new house, and she’s never paid any rent. The place is so far from the village, and I felt it was worth it to have someone on the premises to look after it. What if I told her she had to move out? Would you mind?”
“Leave her alone.”
“I’m regularly deluged with gossip that she’s a charlatan who preys on the sick and the weak. Those who are more superstitious, who believe in the old legends, insist she’s a witch. Should we be encouraging her to spread her nonsense around the neighborhood?”
“Who, precisely, is gossiping about her? Recently, Roxanne raised the same objections, so it sounds to me as if you’re much too cozy with my fiancée.”
“Why are you so angry with Roxanne? With each mention of her name, you fly off the handle.”
His patience was exhausted for numerous reasons, but mainly, he kept imagining how he might renege on the betrothal. Then what? Her parents were deceased, her family’s property and other assets sold a decade earlier when her father went bankrupt. If Jacob set her aside, what would she do?
She’d traveled to England on his promise to marry her. What kind of cad would he be if he backed out?
Kit continued his nagging. “And why are you so accommodating of Miss James? She couldn’t survive without our charity. Has she cast a spell on you? She has that effect on men, you know.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. I invited you to have a drink because I thought it would be a pleasant way to spend an hour. Why must you constantly annoy me?”
“Have I mentioned how grouchy you are lately? What’s wrong? I can’t utter a word without you jumping down my throat.”
They might have erupted into a full-blown argument, but the butler poked his nose in and said, “Mr. Sanders is here, Captain. He’s asking to speak with you privately.”
“Sandy is here?” Jacob inquired. “Did he tell you what he wants?”
“No.” The butler shot a caustic glare at Kit. “He didn’t share his purpose with me. Are you available?”
In all the years since Jacob had inherited, he couldn’t remember a single occasion that Sandy had sought an appointment, so it was probably important, but he was in no mood to chat with Sandy—or anybody else for that matter. He’d conversed with Kit, but he’d simply snapped and barked. Hopefully, Sandy would talk about a topic that didn’t involve Roxanne or Jacob’s skewed engagement.
“I’ll see him,” Jacob said. “Send him in.”
The butler bowed himself out, and an oppressive silence descended. Then Kit asked, “Will you let me stay?”
“No.” Jacob scoffed. “What part of private conversation didn’t you understand?”
“If he has a complaint about me, he ought to disclose it to my face. I bet if I was sitting here, he wouldn’t be so quick to tattle.”
“Why would you automatically assume his comments will be about you? It’s entirely possible he has a whole slew of subjects to discuss that don’t include you at all.”
“He went behind my back to whine about Widow Barnes’s roof.”
“He didn’t go behind your back. I tracked him down on my own. I was grateful he told me the truth, rather than lying. In my view, a man should be allowed to be frank, and he shouldn’t be punished for it.”
“Bully for you, but this isn’t your ship. He’s my employee, and he works for me. You’re never confronted by his insolence.”
“I’ve always found him to be unfailingly polite.”
“Of course he’s polite to you! To me, he’s a pompous, overbearing prick. I put up with him because he’s skilled at his job, but where is the line to be drawn so I can recognize when he steps over it?”
Jacob sighed. This was the sort of problem he detested. On his ship, he was the ultimate ruler, and he had complete authority. He was judge, jury, and executioner. He could have a sailor flogged or hanged. He could lock him in the brig on bread and water rations.
No penalty was beyond him. At Ralston Place though, he was an absentee owner. He gave Kit the power to run things as he liked, so he comprehended Kit’s pique over his usurping control.
He comprehended it, but that didn’t mean Sandy couldn’t voice an opinion. In fact, because of the report about the ledgers, he should speak to Sandy more often. He suspected he’d learn many details he definitely ought to discover.
“Sandy can have his meeting,” Jacob said, “and if you are the topic, I’ll apprise you immediately. We’ll deal with any issue he raises.”
Kit nearly offered a snide retort, but Sandy and the butler were approaching, so he couldn’t. He downed his drink and headed out, exiting as Sandy arrived. They bristled, their mutual dislike clear. Sandy hesitated and didn’t enter. With Kit being present, he was obviously having second thoughts about proceeding.
“I’m leaving,” Kit told him, “but when you and the Captain are finished, you and I should have a long talk. Find me when you’re through.”
“It will have to be tomorrow morning,” Sandy responded. “I’m having supper with my boys in a bit. I have to get home to them.”
Kit flashed a glower at Jacob that seemed to say, See how he sasses me?
He whipped away and kept on, and Sandy hovered in the doorway. Even though Jacob waved him in, he said, “This probably isn’t a good time. Not after Kit was just with you.”
“Were you intending to confer about him?”
“No.”
“Then we shouldn’t be prevented from continuing.”
Still, Sa
ndy vacillated, and Jacob irritably said, “Come in, Sandy. Your indecision is infuriating. Stop it.”
Sandy gnawed on his cheek and might have left, but he couldn’t stomp away with any grace. He marched in, and Jacob was thinking that he’d hate to be Kit and have to constantly bump up against Sandy.
Sandy was competent, steady, and highly respected. Kit was rude, lazy, and disrespected. The two men were like oil and water, and their visible aversion was about to explode—as with so many other problems at the estate.
Suddenly, he was wondering if he shouldn’t muster out of the navy. Should he retire? His friend, Luke Watson, had done it recently. How was Luke faring as a veteran rather than a sailor?
Or he could ride to London and question his half-brother, Caleb, who’d landed on his feet in a very lucrative way. Did he ever miss the navy? Did he ever wish he hadn’t quit?
Sandy faced Jacob across the desk, and they suffered an awkward moment where Jacob couldn’t figure out how to treat him. He shook himself out of his stupor and said, “I’m having a whiskey. Would you like one?”
“No, thank you. I have an important subject to address, and I shouldn’t be imbibing of liquor when I do.”
“Will you sit?” Jacob gestured to the chair Kit had vacated.
Sandy eased onto it, but he appeared so serious that Jacob’s pulse raced with apprehension. Was he about to resign? If he did, it would simply be one more issue that had reached a boiling point.
“What is it you need?” Jacob asked, anxious to tamp down the tension. “You look so solemn. I hope it’s nothing awful.”
“It’s not awful. I’m positive you’re not expecting it though, and I’m concerned over how you’ll view my request.”
“Try me. Let’s see what sort of reaction you get.”
“That is what’s worrying me. You’re not in the best mood.”
“I will admit I’ve been better.”
“It might be wise for me to return later.”
“The longer you delay, the more alarmed I become.”
