by Cheryl Holt
She went by him and into her room. He didn’t enter, but stood in the doorway, observing as she lit a candle on the dresser.
As she whirled to face him, he said, “I never asked you why your bedchamber is in this modest spot in this deserted hallway. Why aren’t you lodged with the rest of your family? Please don’t tell me they forced you to use this one.”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. This is where my grandfather put me when I first arrived as a little girl. Initially, it was lonely and frightening, but back then, every minute of my life was frightening. After Uncle Samson took charge of the manor, I could have moved over to a bigger, prettier suite, but I like this one. It fits me.”
“You have small wishes.”
“I don’t require much to be happy.”
“Is the wedding still off?”
“Yes. I haven’t talked to Gregory though. I’ve been hiding from him, so we haven’t hashed it out, but I won’t be able to avoid him forever.”
He chuckled, his fondness even more apparent, and she was perched on tenterhooks, wondering what he was thinking. Had he, by chance, suffered any of the excitement she’d been suffering? Might he be pondering a closer acquaintance too?
She wasn’t very adept at flirtation, but they seemed to be at a point where a remarkable conclusion could present itself. Though it was probably silly, she wouldn’t discount her connection to his father. She felt as if Captain Ralston had brought Caleb to her, and she wouldn’t let him walk away without a fight.
She realized she was holding her breath, expecting him to offer a comment that would be an overture to their discussing the important matters churning below the surface. But suddenly, he straightened and smoothed his expression, his affection vanishing in an instant.
She heard footsteps, then Gregory said, “Hello, Ralston. Fancy meeting you here.”
Caleb didn’t respond to Gregory’s greeting. He flicked a commiserating glance at Caroline, and he was acting nonchalant, as if he’d strolled past by accident. She allowed herself a moment of self-pity over the conversation that had just been lost, then she braced for the pending confrontation.
Gregory stomped toward Caroline’s door. It was peculiar to find Ralston lurking, but he was too irked to be curious about it.
He’d known Caroline since she was five, when she’d been dumped on their Grandfather Walter by the navy. The story of the three Lost Girls had riveted the kingdom, and she’d been an oddity, like an exotic specimen in the freak show at the circus.
Neighbors had visited to gawk at her. She’d been tiny and quiet, and she’d stared at people with those huge blue eyes of hers. Because she’d rarely spoken, there had been speculation that she was deaf or dim-witted, but it had turned out she was simply traumatized.
A doctor had examined her, and he’d claimed she was merely plagued by lingering shock, which would gradually fade, and it had. Once Walter had died and Samson had taken over, she’d quickly improved, growing so ordinary that it was hard to recollect how eccentric she’d seemed in the beginning.
If Gregory had been prone to much reflection, he’d have wondered how she’d managed to be such a sweet, pleasant adult. She’d finished her schooling and had commenced running the house for Samson. She was a fair, firm, and sociable young lady whom the servants and neighbors adored.
She’d always minded her manners and did as she was told. She’d obeyed the men in her life who were placed above her as the Good Lord intended, the two main ones being Gregory and his father.
What had happened to her? In recent days, she’d become a shrew he didn’t recognize. How was he to view such a metamorphosis? And how could he change her back into the polite, compliant person she’d been previously?
“Would you excuse us, Ralston?” he said. “I have to confer privately with my cousin.”
Ralston didn’t move though, but asked Caroline, who was inside the room, “What is your opinion, Miss Grey? Would you like to be alone with him?”
Gregory heard Caroline’s heavy sigh. “I suppose I should get this over with.”
“Shall I tarry and listen in on the discussion?” Ralston asked her.
“No, no,” Caroline replied. “I’ll be fine.”
“Of course she’ll be fine,” Gregory said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
Still, Ralston ignored Gregory and addressed Caroline. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. You go on. I can handle this.”
Ralston tipped his head to her, as if he was perfectly happy to do her bidding. Then he whipped his caustic focus to Gregory.
“I’ll see you downstairs in a bit,” Ralston said like a threat. “You and I have business to conduct, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste too much time with her.”
“This won’t take long.” Gregory truly expected it wouldn’t. “I’ll be down shortly.”
Ralston shared a final glance with Caroline that Gregory didn’t understand, then he continued on. Gregory watched until he vanished, then he spun to Caroline. She was blandly peering out at him, as if he was a great trial to her, as if she couldn’t figure out why he’d arrived.
He’d hunted for her all evening, but in a half-hearted way. He hadn’t been that eager to locate her. He never liked to quarrel, and he’d assumed he could bluster in, tease her, make a few points, then leave her to ponder his comments.
He’d been certain she’d come to her senses, so scant persuasion would be necessary. But now that they were face to face, he couldn’t start.
He hadn’t rehearsed any remarks, for it hadn’t occurred to him that she had such adamant tendencies. As he glared at her through the open door, it dawned on him that he was a tad afraid of her. In light of how bizarrely she was behaving, who could predict how she might act?
“What did you need, Gregory?” she asked.
She stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her, as if she didn’t like him looking into her bedchamber. Well, wasn’t that a snooty attitude for her to have! He was her fiancé, and Grey’s Corner was his home. He could look into any bloody room he chose.
“I thought we should talk,” he said like an idiot.
“What is there to say? I’ve called off the wedding.”
“Father told me that was your plan, but I didn’t believe him.”
“We don’t suit, Gregory. You can’t honestly tell me you think so.”
“We’re cousins! We grew up together, and we’ve always been fond. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Uncle Samson convinced me to betroth myself to you, but I shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have agreed either. You know that, Gregory. Deep down, you know I’m right.”
“I don’t know that. What’s come over you? I feel as if you’ve turned into a stranger.”
“I’ve been questioning our engagement for months—for years!—and I’ve realized I can’t proceed.”
“The ceremony is Saturday!”
“It was Saturday, but it’s been cancelled. Could you send a message to the vicar for me? Or will you make me do it?”
“Caroline Grey! Stop it this instant.”
“Fine then. I’ll pen a note to him in the morning.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“I want a different life. I want to walk a different path. I’m sorry, but that path doesn’t include having you as my husband.”
He huffed with offense. “What could be better than having me as your husband? Name one thing.”
She smiled oddly, as if there were dozens of candidates who would be better than him, but she hadn’t seemed to notice there was no line of suitors begging to marry her instead. He was the only fellow who’d ever been willing.
“Could we not bicker?” she said. “It’s late, and I’m weary.”
“We’ll stand here all night if that’s what it takes for me to get you to li
sten.”
“I’m listening to you, Gregory, but you are not listening to me—as usual—so goodnight for now. We’ll chat again tomorrow. I’m sure we can settle this amicably without having to brawl over a single issue.”
With that, she slipped into her room and closed the door. She spun the key in the lock, and he dawdled like an imbecile who had been completely emasculated.
He thought about pounding on the door and demanding to be admitted. He thought about shouting at her, informing her that she was being absurd. He thought about reminding her that he was about to be her spouse, and he didn’t have to put up with such insolence, but he couldn’t imagine behaving that way.
Obviously, she was fixated on some weird ideas he couldn’t chase away. But his father could. That was probably what the situation required. Samson was her guardian, and he would decide who her husband should be. It wasn’t up to her.
She had to realize there could be consequences to force her compliance. Gregory had already explained them to his father: Female hysteria was a dangerous condition in a woman, and male relatives didn’t have to tolerate it.
There were laws and asylums to deal with the illness. Gregory was incredibly fond of her and always had been, but he liked the money in her trust fund much more than he liked her. When it was a question between having her or her money, he would always pick the money.
She couldn’t be allowed to imperil Gregory’s livelihood. It simply couldn’t be permitted, and he needed to have another frank talk with his father. Immediately.
“Dammit, Ralston. How do you keep winning?”
“I’m lucky and you’re not.”
Caleb stared at Gregory, and he was struggling to hide his loathing, but he wasn’t succeeding.
There were bizarre, unspoken rules attached to gambling, the main one being that when a man incurred extensive losses, the winner had to provide him with a chance to get even. Caleb had wound up furnishing Gregory with dozens of chances, but it always ended badly—for Gregory.
They were in a rear parlor at Grey’s Corner, engaged in another pointless session of cards. Gregory was too proud to quit and too drunk to realize he should stop. The other London guests had given up and gone to bed. A footman had been serving them their alcoholic beverages, but he had to be up at dawn to work at his usual chores, so he’d departed too.
Even Lucretia Starling had left. Thank goodness.
Caleb and Gregory were the only two still seated at the table. Blake hovered by the sideboard, pretending not to be interested in the proceedings, but Blake was a sly character. If Gregory grew disruptive, his brother would jump in and yank him to his senses.
“Lucretia thinks you cheat,” Gregory blurted out.
Caleb and Blake stiffened. It was a dangerous comment, and Blake said, “Be careful, Mr. Grey. You haven’t ever seen my brother when he’s angry, and I can guarantee you wouldn’t like him when he’s in a temper.”
Gregory harrumphed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was simply repeating what Lucretia mentioned.”
Blake warned, “Perhaps your mistress should learn to be more circumspect. I would hate to have her unfortunate words land you in trouble.”
Gregory downed the whiskey in his glass, then Blake—delighted to make matters worse—filled it again. Gregory sipped it more slowly, rubbing his forehead as if it was aching.
“I don’t understand why I can’t beat you,” Gregory said.
“You never beat anyone,” Caleb replied. “It’s not just me.”
“Yes, but with others, I win every so often. With you, it never happens.”
“You’re a lousy gambler, Gregory, and I’m a skilled one. It’s easily explained. You really ought to find a new hobby.”
Caleb wasn’t about to continue discussing the topic, for he feared Gregory would walk out onto a limb that Caleb would have to chop off. He would never shoot Gregory in a duel, but the stupid oaf had to shut his mouth. Caleb owned a gambling club, and he couldn’t have the idiot waltzing around and claiming he was a cheat. That sort of rumor wasn’t conducive to running a profitable business.
“I’m weary,” Caleb said. “How about if we call it a night?”
“I have to recover from these latest losses. You have to let me.”
“We’ll have to draft another promissory note. It’s the only route open to you.”
Blake chimed in with, “Unless you’d like to sign over Grey’s Corner. My brother would probably be willing to take it off your hands.”
Caleb had been marching toward this conclusion for weeks, and he’d arranged for Blake to propose the option. A transfer of title had become the sole viable ending, but it hadn’t seemed to occur to Gregory. He couldn’t square his debt otherwise. Not if he’d had a hundred years of trying.
“I can’t sign over the estate,” Gregory said.
“Why not?” Caleb asked.
“It doesn’t belong to me. It’s my father’s. It will be mine after he cocks up his toes, but he’s in disgustingly good health. He may live forever merely to spite me.”
Gregory laughed a weak laugh, and he glanced at Caleb, hoping Caleb would laugh too, but he didn’t. He held himself very still, his mind awhirl over how he should react.
Gregory had repeatedly bragged that he owned Grey’s Corner, but from the start, Caleb had recognized Gregory was a blowhard.
Why hadn’t he researched the property? Why hadn’t he posed a few pertinent questions? Of course it belonged to Gregory’s father! When had Caleb grown so oblivious that he wouldn’t have realized that fact?
Blake broke the awkward silence. “How about your trust fund? There has to be a way to glom onto the balance.”
“It’s not mine either.”
“Whose is it?” Blake asked.
“It’s just. . . ah. . . not mine. I’m permitted quarterly disbursements, but that’s it.”
“Who gives you the disbursements?”
“My father.”
“Is it his money?”
“No, it’s. . . it’s. . . family money. He’s the trustee.”
“I guess you’d best confer with him about this little problem we’re having.”
Gregory looked aghast. “I couldn’t!”
“Why not?”
“He’s. . . ah. . . not aware of the extent of my arrears.”
“Then you’re in a definite pickle, aren’t you?”
Through their parley, Caleb had let Blake do the talking. He’d simply relaxed in his chair, watching Gregory squirm and dissemble, while he kicked himself for being such a dunce.
He finally spoke up. “I’ve noticed, Gregory, that you like to boast and crow about how wealthy you are, but you’re naught more than an irresponsible boy who receives a quarterly allowance from his father.”
Blake warmed to Caleb’s steely tone, and he said to Gregory, “You’ll never be able to fix this. My brother’s murdered men for much less.”
Gregory gulped with dismay. “There’s no need to resort to violence. It would be completely unnecessary.”
Blake scoffed. “I suppose that depends on where you’re sitting. From my point of view, you have one foot in the grave.”
Gregory began to sweat and tremble. He was such a wretched dolt, and Caleb thought—if he saved Caroline from having the fiend as her husband—it would be such a good deed that it would buy him a ticket into Heaven after he passed on.
“We’ll have to work out an arrangement,” Gregory said. “For repayment.”
“Yes, we will,” Caleb told him, “and just so we’re clear, this is our last game. Don’t pester me again. I won’t oblige you.”
“A gentleman has to provide a fellow with the chance to recoup his losses,” Gregory whined.
“A gentleman does,” Caleb said, “but I’ve never been one.”
“He’s a sc
oundrel,” Blake added, “and you’ve gambled with him at your peril.”
Gregory blanched, as he struggled to deduce a method by which he could smooth over the situation. Caleb hadn’t declared that Gregory would be banned from his club, but they both knew it was coming. The drastic move would render him a pariah. His dubious chums could forgive many sins, but fiscal disgrace was not one of them.
He owed money everywhere, and once word spread that Caleb had stopped obliging him, his other creditors would be out for blood. It was a crime for a scofflaw to not pay his bills, and he wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without facing arrest.
“There is one thing I could offer you,” Gregory said.
“What could it possibly be?” Caleb asked. “You’ve admitted you don’t own the estate. The trust isn’t yours. What could be left?”
Blake stepped to the table. “Shall I take him out into the woods, Caleb? I could kill him and—”
“Kill me!” Gregory shrieked. “Are you deranged? This is England. There are laws against homicide.”
Blake snickered. “They only apply if a man is caught. If he’s not caught, he gets away with it. I’m willing to risk it.”
Gregory was gaping like a fish tossed on a riverbank. “You’re in the King’s navy. You serve the Crown! How can you utter such felonious comments when you’re wearing your uniform?”
“It’s easy,” Blake casually said. “Some people are too stupid to live, and I think you’re in that group.” Blake turned to Caleb. “I can slit his throat and have him buried before dawn. No one will miss him or care that he vanished.”
Gregory winced with dismay. “Your brother is a maniac, Ralston. Don’t listen to him.”
“I won’t—for the moment—but you’d better tell me something interesting that will distract me.”
“You’ve met my fiancée, and you have to agree she’s beautiful and graceful.”
“From the rumors circulating, the wedding is off, so she’s not your fiancée anymore.”
Gregory waved a hand, as if Caroline’s decision was of no consequence. “Her opinion is irrelevant. My father is her guardian, and he will never let her back out.”
