Someone to Cherish

by Cheryl Holt

  Well, that was a bit more aggravation than Caleb should have to swallow while sitting in his own office.

  Disgusting as it was to admit, he never stopped being curious about his half-brother. They looked exactly alike: same height and weight, same striking blue eyes, same brawny shoulders and healthy physique. The genuine difference was that Caleb’s hair was blond and Jacob’s was black.

  They were the same age of thirty, their birthdays a few months apart, providing stark evidence that their father had been an immoral dog.

  Caleb and Blake told themselves that Miles had married his first wife—Jacob’s mother, Esther—out of duty to his family, but that he’d married their mother, Pearl, because he’d loved her and couldn’t live without her. Yet they couldn’t guess if that view was accurate or not.

  By the time they’d realized Miles was a bigamist, their parents had been dead, so they couldn’t inquire as to his reasoning.

  Miles’s fellow officers had claimed they were unaware of his sinful existence, and Caleb suspected they’d probably known about it, but had ignored the situation. The burden of it, the shame of it, had fallen on Blake and Caleb when they’d been much too young to carry the load.

  Caleb had initially learned about Jacob when he was ten and newly arrived in England, but they hadn’t met until they were twenty. Even then, they’d bumped into each other by accident, at a party for a senior officer who’d been retiring.

  Since then, they’d been forced into each other’s company on a handful of awkward occasions, and they couldn’t deduce how to socialize. They weren’t responsible for their father’s conduct, but they’d suffered for it. Caleb and Blake were a stain on the Ralston family name, and Jacob’s mother in particular had been very cruel about it.

  Miles’s behavior was a stain on Jacob and his siblings too. He had two sisters, and they’d assumed themselves to be his only children. Caleb and Blake had shattered any illusions they’d harbored about Miles.

  It was a horrendous quagmire, and Caleb didn’t begrudge his half-siblings their anger or disdain. He was angry too and had been raging for two decades, and he couldn’t imagine why Jacob had waltzed in. There was no point in chatting, and Caleb had no desire to be cordial.

  He was very rich now, as Jacob would have heard, and he hoped Jacob wasn’t about to ask for a loan! He wasn’t privy to the condition of the Ralston finances. What had been accumulated over the years? After Miles’s death, how much remained?

  Jacob had inherited their father’s estate, which included a manor house that could have been a castle fit for a king. That kind of property cost a fortune to maintain. Was Jacob broke? Was he seeking fiscal assistance?

  Maybe he was about to demand repayment of the monies his mother had forked over for Caleb and Blake’s schooling and commissions. If that was the case, Caleb couldn’t predict how he’d react.

  One thing was certain: He wouldn’t give Jacob Ralston a single farthing. Any money Esther Ralston had shelled out to get Blake and Caleb situated in life was money that was fully warranted.

  “What can I do for you, Jacob?” he asked. “What is it you need?”

  “I don’t need anything. I was being truthful when I told you I was simply walking by. I had to say hello.”

  “Fine. Hello to you too.”

  “It looks as if you’re doing really well.”

  “I’m doing well enough,” Caleb said.

  “I’m glad. After you left the navy, I was worried about what would happen to you.”

  Caleb tsked with offense. “I’m sure you were a veritable boiling pot of concern.”

  “I was worried. I’m delighted to find that you’ve landed on your feet.”

  Jacob toasted him with his glass, and Caleb accepted it as an olive branch of sorts.

  “It’s nice to have some money for a change,” Caleb said. “I can’t deny it.” More caustically, he added, “In the future, I won’t ever have to beg anyone for help.”

  Jacob winced. “In light of our history, I suppose I deserved that.”

  “Your mother deserved it anyway. Not you. I just mean that I can take care of Blake and Sybil. It’s always been my biggest fear: that disaster would arise and I wouldn’t be able to protect them.”

  “What was your issue with the navy? Why did you resign? There was a rumor you were swept up in an embezzlement scheme, but I didn’t believe it.”

  Caleb yearned to confide Blake’s mischief, how Blake had always been a great trial, how he’d been a burden to Caleb from the moment they’d been orphaned. They’d staggered to England only to discover there was no family waiting to greet them, no inheritance to smooth their path, and Blake had been wild and negligent ever since.

  Caleb was very loyal though, and Blake was still in the navy. Caleb had quit so his brother could stay in the navy. Blake needed the structure it provided. Jacob was in the navy too, and his connections ran high and deep. Any admission about Blake’s debacle would drift into the wrong ears, and Blake would be in trouble again.

  Caleb would never risk it. Instead, he said, “Do you have many memories of our father?”

  “Not many, no. He was always at sea, and he and my mother didn’t get along. When he was in England, he rarely spent time with us. He and Mother quarreled too viciously. How about your mother? Did he get along with her? Did they spend much time together?”

  “He was rarely home with us either, but when he was there, he and my mother seemed happy. I was a boy though, so I might have misread their relationship.”

  “He must have been madly in love with her. Why else would he have married her?”

  Caleb wouldn’t wander down that road. He wasn’t about to debate the topic of which wife their father had liked more. There was no way to win that comparison.

  “You’re a tad nostalgic tonight,” Caleb said.

  Jacob shrugged. “Perhaps I am.”

  “I can’t discuss these subjects with you.”

  “I think we should though. Don’t you? The involved parties are deceased—”

  “Your mother passed away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wasn’t informed. My condolences.”

  “It’s just me and my sisters now. That’s it—unless I start to consider you and Blake to be part of the family.”

  Caleb chuckled. “If Blake and I are suddenly family, your mother will be spinning in her grave.”

  “It’s not as if I’ll mention it to her in my prayers. She doesn’t have to be apprised of every little detail.”

  “I can’t imagine us being friends,” Caleb said. “Isn’t there too much water under the bridge?”

  “The water was between our mothers, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess it was,” Caleb grudgingly agreed.

  “There’s no reason you and I should fight, and I’ve always been fascinated by you and Blake. I’d hoped to have some brothers, but I wound up with a pair of bossy, annoying sisters.”

  “Trust me. Blake and I aren’t fascinating.”

  “I beg to differ. Look at what you’ve made of yourself.” Jacob gestured around the room, indicating Caleb’s expensive building and thriving business. “In this accursed country where lineage is the sole thing that matters, you’ve shocked everyone. Have you listened to any of the gossip as to how you’ve grown so wealthy? Do your dealers cheat? Do you use black magic? Were spells cast by a sorcerer? No one can fathom you being successful due to intellect and hard work.”

  “People are idiots.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  They grinned identical Ralston grins, and Jacob leaned across the desk so they could clink their glasses. He sat back, and Caleb refilled their liquor. They sipped companionably, then Jacob said, “Have you heard about that actress, Libby Carstairs? She’s one of the Mystery Girls of the Caribbean. She’s performing here in town.�
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  “I’ve heard of her, but I haven’t seen her on the stage. I can’t bear to.”

  “I’ve been reticent as well, but apparently, she talks about Father constantly during her shows. I’m curious as to what she might tell me in private.”

  “I stumbled on a Mystery Girl recently. Not Miss Carstairs, but Caroline Grey? Remember her?”

  “Vaguely. Miss Carstairs garnered all the attention, but then, she sought it out.”

  “Miss Grey told me she has very fond recollections of him. Over the years, he’s reached near-mythical proportions.”

  “He saved their lives, so I can understand why she’d worship him. He received such praise for rescuing them. Isn’t it odd how a man can have such diverse sides to his personality? Father was a great hero, but also quite a dastardly fiend. Have you ever pondered that about him?”

  “I ponder it relentlessly. When he was married to our mothers, would he have tossed and turned at night, wondering if his bigamy was about to be exposed? He must have been terrified every minute.”

  “Or the bloody oaf had nerves of steel.”

  They smirked in unison, then Jacob downed his drink and put the glass on the desk. “I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.”

  “You haven’t—yet.”

  “If I keep this visit short and sweet, can I stop by in the future?”

  Caleb found himself thinking he might enjoy subsequent encounters. “You can stop by as often as you like.”

  “I’ll be in England for the next three months. I’m having a house party in September before I ship out, and I’d like you to come. Would you consider it? You can bring Sybil too. And Blake—if he’s not at sea by then.”

  “It might be a step farther than I can go at the moment.”

  The last time Caleb had been at the Ralston estate, he’d been ten. He’d staggered in with Sybil and Blake, after their lengthy voyage from Jamaica. They’d been introduced to Jacob’s mother, then promptly escorted off the property. The gate had been barred behind them, and several footmen had been posted as guards to ensure they didn’t slither back in.

  The memory was still humiliating, and he’d sworn he’d never set foot there ever again.

  “Reflect on it for me,” Jacob said, “and I’ll invite Sybil. I’ll suggest she nag at you. As I recall, she’s very effective at getting what she wants.” He stood and gave a mock salute. “I’ll be in town this whole week.”

  “I’m here every evening.”

  “I’ll catch Miss Carstairs’s performance at the theater. I might even ask to meet her afterward.”

  “She’s a siren who lures sailors to their doom. Be careful around her. She might suck you into a vortex you didn’t intend.”

  “I won’t let her doom me, but I would like to chat with her about Father.”

  “If she provides any interesting details, I can’t wait to hear them.”

  They stared for ages, then Jacob said, “I’ve decided we should be friends. I’m planning on it.”

  “Maybe.” Caleb was more tentative. “We’ll see how it plays out.”

  Jacob walked out the door, and Caleb relaxed in his seat, listening as his booted strides faded down the hall. The silence enveloped him, then a few minutes later, Sybil rushed in.

  “You didn’t fight with him!”

  “We were tediously polite.”

  “We have to attend his house party. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “We’ll talk about it.”

  “Yes, we will,” she said like a threat.

  She spun and dashed out. He loafed in his chair, drinking his whiskey, and mulling life in general.

  He should be friendly with Jacob, shouldn’t he? The man had made the first move. Why not be cordial? When all the guilty people were dead, why bicker?

  He felt his father’s ghost swirling, his father’s hand shifting them into the correct positions so they would cross paths. Jacob Ralston. Jacob’s sisters. Caroline Grey. Perhaps Libby Carstairs too. Where would it lead?

  If Miles was truly guiding them, what was his purpose? Caleb supposed, if he didn’t at least try to answer that question, his father would haunt him forever.

  Caroline was in her bedchamber and gazing out at the garden. It was very quiet, and the situation was eerily similar to the years when she’d lived with her grandfather.

  She’d frequently been punished for small infractions—tearing her dress, scuffing her shoe—and she’d been locked in her room for days on end, with the rare servant visiting to check on her.

  She’d learned to be content on her own, to relish the solitude.

  She was locked in now too. Her uncle had come by occasionally to confer with her, and though she’d demanded he let her out, he’d refused. She probably could have physically wrestled with him to escape, but she wasn’t a brawler, so she hadn’t.

  It was like being trapped in a peculiar dream, one where she’d been thrust back to her childhood: imprisoned in her room, without a friend in the manor to worry about her. The only difference was that her uncle didn’t shout and lash out as her grandfather used to do.

  He simply droned on in his cold, incessant way about how much she owed him. She would cock her head and study him, anxious to figure out how it would conclude. She sensed that her fate was about to be sealed, and it would be in a manner she wouldn’t like.

  She’d grown so introspective that she hadn’t told him about Janet. Had the servants informed him she’d fled? Had he noticed she’d vanished? Or was he so fixated on Caroline that he wasn’t concerned about his daughter?

  What was his goal in treating her like this? How long would she be confined? He likely assumed his conduct would force her to relent and change her mind, but it wouldn’t, so how would they resolve it?

  If he ever deigned to release her, their amicable relationship had been shattered. How would they reside in the same house? She’d be afraid every second that she’d be punished again for the slightest gaffe.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, but they were soft and furtive, as if someone was tiptoeing toward her. She braced, unnerved over what was about to transpire. The key was inserted and turned, then the door was opened. The housekeeper, Mrs. Scruggs, peeked in.

  “Mrs. Scruggs?” Caroline said. “It’s lovely to finally see you. I was wondering if you’d been apprised of where I was.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” the older woman replied, “but your uncle has been watching us like a hawk.”

  “You’re here now.”

  Mrs. Scruggs flitted inside and closed the door. She was carrying a portmanteau. She put it on the floor, then hurried over to Caroline and clasped her hands. “We don’t have much time, so I have to be blunt. I’ve arranged for you to sneak away.”

  “From. . . my room? Good. I’m weary of being a prisoner.”

  “Not your room, Miss Caroline. You need to leave Grey’s Corner. A footman eavesdropped on your uncle and Mr. Gregory. They’re planning to have you committed to an insane asylum.”

  Caroline gasped. “On what grounds?”

  “They claim you’re suffering from hysteria. Their proof is that you won’t marry Gregory. To them, it’s bizarre behavior, so they feel you’ve had a complete mental breakdown. They’re positive they can convince a judge.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Neither do I, but you have to depart immediately. I bribed a footman to whisk you away.”

  “But. . . but. . . where would I go?”

  “I thought you could catch the mail coach to London. Perhaps you could stay with Miss Janet? I’m sure she would hide you from them.”

  “I’m sure she would too, but I have no idea where she is.”

  “You could find out, couldn’t you?” Mrs. Scruggs wrung her hands. “You could place an adver
tisement in the newspaper or. . . or. . .” She cut off and patted her flushed cheeks. “I simply know we can’t let them succeed. We’d never get you out of there.”

  “I should speak to my uncle. I’ll stop his mischief.”

  “No, no, you shouldn’t! You should be safely away first, then I’ll consult with the vicar and some of the neighbors. I’ll seek their advice. We have to enlist some help—from people who are more influential than we are. You and I don’t have the power to fight them on our own.”

  “Why is my uncle doing this, Mrs. Scruggs? I am so bewildered.”

  “I can’t guess his motives, but I had a sister once who was committed to an asylum by her husband. He was a spoiled monster who wanted a divorce, but he had no cause to obtain one, so he locked her away, then he was able to gad about as he pleased. We could never free her, and she died in that terrible facility.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Scruggs! Don’t tell me a story like that.”

  “I’m just so frightened for you! Your uncle has a wicked purpose that I can’t deduce, but at the moment, he is out of the house and Mr. Gregory is in London. Let’s get you away while they’re not looking.”

  Caroline dithered, pondering what was best. The entire debacle seemed too far-fetched, like a plot in a theatrical play. Her uncle had always been such a rational fellow. What had possessed him to become so malicious?

  She was frozen with indecision, and Mrs. Scruggs interrupted her miserable musing.

  “What if he returns with a court order? What if he brings attendants from the hospital? They’d drag you away, and we’d never see you again. I’m certain of it.”

  “This is too strange to be believed,” Caroline said. “I can’t fathom him acting this way.”

  “A man can do anything to a woman. You’re aware of that.”

  Mrs. Scruggs wouldn’t debate the issue. She went to Caroline’s dresser and started yanking out clothes and stuffing them into the portmanteau. Caroline observed in a sort of dazed stupor.

  For days, she’d been drifting in an odd languor, as she’d tried to come to grips with her uncle’s perfidy. She’d been the perfect niece, the perfect girl, then the perfect young lady. How dare he treat her so badly! How dare he lock her in!