He didn’t laugh or say something sarcastic. That in itself proved how forlorn he was. Patrice’s heart broke for him, but she couldn’t do anything for him until he was ready to do for himself. To begin with, he had to admit what was in his heart.
“At one time, I could have helped myself to everything you have here—a lifetime with the woman I loved, a baby to carry on our family name, a happy home, all of it, Patrice.”
“What happened?”
“Just what you said. I let the idea of duty and Father’s dreams get in the way. And now someone else has everything I ever wanted. And I have my empty nobility.”
She rubbed his coat sleeves, stunned by his unexpected candor. She returned it. “Are you sure you’ve lost it?”
He made an anguished noise. “She’s married to another man, Patrice. They’re living together under the roof I wanted to provide for her. I’d say that makes her pretty much out of my reach.”
“Does she still love you?”
“What? What difference does that make now?”
“It’s the only thing that really does matter, Deacon.”
“I betrayed her, Patrice. It’s my fault her father died in prison.”
“A woman can forgive a lot of the man she loves. Is she in love with her husband?”
Again, the blank look. She held to her exasperation. “Deacon, she was alone, deserted by all she’d known and loved. Can you blame her for grabbing at the first chance of rescue? She might be grateful, but that’s a poor substitute for true feelings.”
“They share a child, ‘Trice. That’s a bond not easily broken.”
“No, it’s not.”
She debated then on whether she should tell him what she knew. Would knowing that he was William’s father clear the path toward his happiness or just compound his misery? She’d seen the wistful softening of his gaze when he looked down upon her slumbering son. Was it fair to deny him the privilege of feeling those tender emotions for a child of his own? Or would the knowledge of how much he’d missed already be too great a pain to forgive? Garnet had kept the truth from him. She’d had her reasons, and from what she knew of the situation, Patrice had to respect them. But she loved her brother and knew how much he’d be capable of if just allowed the chance to express himself. In his mind, Garnet was the only woman for him. Having experienced that certainty herself, she couldn’t make light of it. But was now the right time for her to interfere?
“Does she love you, Deacon?”
He raked a restless hand through his hair and admitted, “She loves what we had together but now believes it was all a lie. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her the truth. And why put us both through the torment of what we’ll never have?”
“Don’t be so sure it’s impossible,” was all she’d say.
Because he was right. The bond between a woman and the father of her child contained a strength she wouldn’t have understood before Jonah was born. Even if Garnet didn’t trust her brother, that connection still pulled them together. And gratitude for the man who’d rescued her couldn’t compare.
“Don’t give up, Deacon. You may be closer to that happiness than you know.”
“You have a beautiful wife.”
Monty stopped chafing his hands against the miserable cold and cast a sidelong glance at Roscoe Skinner. “Yes, I do. I’m very proud of her.”
“As smart as she is lovely, a talented hostess, a shrewd businesswoman.”
“Yes, my Garnet is all of those things.” His affability took on an impatient edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything …”
“What is it, Roscoe?”
“It’s just that I’ve developed a respect for you and a fondness for the lady and I would hate to carry tales that would distress people—”
“What’s on your mind, Skinner?”
“Your wife is young, so you can forgive her a certain … impulsiveness.”
“Just say it!”
“I came upon her and Sinclair in a rather indelicate meeting. They didn’t see me, so I place the matter entirely at your discretion. I only beg that you not judge your wife too harshly.”
Monty was silent for a long moment, his mind churning over the possible meanings of “indelicate.” None of them were good. Finally, he said, “Garnet is, as you say, very young. And she has an unfortunate weakness where Sinclair is concerned. He has managed to confuse her sound judgement before.”
“They knew each other before? I’m sorry, it truly isn’t any of my business—”
While Monty might pretend to be eager for a sympathetic ear, his reasons for disclosing so much of the truth was part of a far different plan. A plan that revolved around Skinner and his niece. Time to set the stage for that particular relationship while planting a firm wedge between Garnet and Sinclair. He knew Roscoe was attracted to his niece. What man could help that? Now, he needed to engage the man’s protective instincts to nudge him subtly in the right romantic direction.
“They met during the war. Sinclair … seduced her to gain information for the Confederates. She was vulnerable and alone and believed the cad completely. Even after he had her father arrested as a traitor and imprisoned. The man was in poor health and didn’t survive his incarceration. As a friend of her mother’s, I was only too happy to step in and assume her care.”
“So it’s no accident that you bought his plantation,” Roscoe mused, looking suitably disgusted by Sinclair’s manipulations.
“She told me it was to ruin him but I’m beginning to suspect it has as much to do with her unhealthy attraction to him.”
“Then your wife is not from Pride.”
“No, she and her father had a modest farm in the Cumberlands. So you see, she hasn’t the inbred skill to protect herself from a man of Sinclair’s cunning.”
Roscoe Skinner knew a moment of rapturous delight. Oh, this was too good, too perfect. He’d made two mistakes in his life and here they were, both ready to be remedied in one place, in one swift stroke of retribution. Fate had delivered them into his hands. It had always been his plan to seek out Sinclair, but the woman, she was an added extra.
“Mr. Skinner, you could do me a great service if you would stay close to my wife, using your presence to remind her of her place and purpose. I don’t trust Sinclair. I know he’s not above breaking her heart all over again to gain back what once was his. A man like that has no conscience, no allegiance, no loyalty.”
“An apt description of a dangerous man.” A description that fit him just as snugly. “You are wise to worry. I would consider it a privilege to protect your wife’s honor.” A privilege and an unexpected pleasure.
“In fact, might I go so far as to ask another rather … unusual favor of you?”
“Of course.”
“Should something happen to me, would you be willing to see to my wife’s care and protect her from Sinclair? If you agree, I would certainly make it worth your sacrifice.”
And as he guided their carriage into Pride, Roscoe Skinner listened with concealed glee and adjusted his plans to include this bonus discovery. He would have his revenge against the one man who’d bested and ultimately thwarted him and he would claim all that mattered most to Deacon Sinclair … his property, his life, and his woman all with Montgomery Prior’s blessing.
Chapter 19
Did she love him?
Deacon’s attention drifted from the drummer trying to sell him a sample display of some new wonder tonic to the always distracting arrival of Garnet Prior. He had a brief smile of welcome for William before the boy’s mother met his stare. Her impersonal look never failed to rile him, discounting the fact that his expression was almost identical. They could have been total strangers instead of lovers who were or were not in love with one another.
Did she care?
The way she doted on her escort’s every word confused the issue. Deacon glowered at Roscoe Skinner, wondering why the man never failed to put
his hackles up—other than the fact that he now stood in Deacon’s place, both on his properties and at Garnet’s side. He’d thought Garnet shared his uneasy opinion of the man but her behavior had contradicted it today She held lightly to the man’s arm and blushed at his flattery while joining in his laughter. Deacon’s jaw ached.
“Can I set up a display for you?”
He turned back to the annoying salesman with a curt, “What?”
Ordinarily, the appearance of a drummer was an anticipated event. They arrived with the scent of the city still clinging to their coats like coal dust from the train. They knew all the latest news, all the baseball scores, the weather up north, the health of folks four counties over, and they shared that information generously with any who would listen. Only this morning, Deacon had no patience with the endless prattle. He eyed the bottle of tonic: an elixir of “exotic” herbs suspended mysteriously in a generous solution of alcohol behind tinted glass.
“What exactly does this potion do?”
The drummer beamed at him and launched into his pitch. “It cures headaches, fullness in the head after eating, dizziness, dots before the eyes, shooting bodily pains, and dyspepsia, and gives a cheerful warming glow to the whole body.”
“Probably due to the fact that it’s almost all alcohol,” Deacon mumbled dryly. “Does it work?”
Now the drummer looked blank. “Excuse me?”
“Does it actually do anything other than produce a stupor that numbs the unfortunate sufferer into forgetting his ills?”
The sharpness of his tone brought Garnet to lean on the counter with a diplomatic, “Is there a problem here?”
“No problem, Mrs. Prior. Mr. Morganstern was just enlightening me on the restorative powers of his tonic. Perhaps you’d like to tell Mrs. Prior about your product. This is her store, so the buying decisions are hers. I’m just the counter help. Please excuse me.”
Before Garnet could voice the displeasure sparking in her dark eyes, he slipped away from them for the preferable company of the town banker, Hamilton Dodge, accompanied by his stepson. Christien immediately bounded off to greet William.
“Business is booming.”
Deacon accepted Dodge’s observation with a cynical smile. “Skinner has them convinced they’re all wealthy while he sucks off his high percent of interest.”
Dodge grinned. “Most of them would say you just described me.”
“At least you give them enough to live on. His rates are going to starve these people.”
“And Mrs. Prior has nothing to say about that?”
“She says it’s the price of doing business and that they are responsible for understanding their own finances.”
Dodge made a noncommittal noise. “Considering most of them can’t do more than make their mark, those are high expectations.”
“Mrs. Prior may have a fine head for figures, but her standards are impossible to live up to.”
Dodge gave him a look, but refrained from comment.
“Are you here to place an order for cigars, or to listen to my complaints?”
“I’m all set on cigars, and I’m not opposed to hearing your complaints, but I’m actually here to follow up on some rumors I’ve overheard. I figured, what better place to ferret out gossip than the source of most of it?” He nodded toward the glowing stove and the gaggle of gabbers holding court around it.
Deacon gestured to the office for a modicum of privacy, not wanting to fuel rumors while trying to uncover the truth of them. There was nothing unusual about the store manager and the town banker doing a little business over the record books behind closed doors.
“What’s on your mind?”
“What do you know about these new improvement bonds?”
Deacon smiled. “Afraid of the competition?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here talking to the prince of liens. I’m all for community improvements, depending on who’s backing them. I hear it’s Judge Banning looking to get himself appointed to county supervisor.”
“And that worries you?”
“Like inviting a convicted bank robber to count my money at night.”
“Good morning, Mr. Dodge. Is there something I can do for you?”
Dodge was all smiles as Garnet entered the office.” ‘Morning, Mrs. Prior. Aside from bringing Christien over to visit your boy, I wanted to stop by and let you know that I’ve examined Mrs. Collier’s financial statement as you requested. I think she’ll be an excellent business risk for your rental space.”
“I’m so relieved.” That relief didn’t translate well to her expression, which remained pinched and preoccupied. “I suppose there’s no reason she shouldn’t begin moving her things upstairs.” Why did she look as though she wished she could find one?
“I’ll let her know.”
Her gaze darted to Deacon, then away. “I’ve told Mr. Morganstern he could set up a temporary display of his product and we’d keep track of how it sells for future ordering.”
“Just what we need, more snake oil.”
Her stare focused and sharpened. “It’s our business to supply people with what they need.”
“Or what we tell them they need.” He picked up an order form and handed it to her. “Have him fill out that top part. There should be some room on the counter next to the Gray’s and other miracle cures.”
When she took the form and left without some quip or challenge, Deacon looked after her in concern, wondering what troubled her.
“Thanks for not saying anything in front of Mrs. Prior.”
Deacon glanced at Dodge. “Why not?”
“Because her husband is behind this bond business. What do you know about him?”
“Not enough. I’ve got some feelers out through some rather unconventional channels. I’ll let you know.”
“Do that. Something’s not as it seems about him and that hired man.”
“Skinner?” Now Deacon’s intuition quivered as well.
“I’ve seen him someplace. I just can’t put my finger on it. But I will. Until then, don’t turn your back on him.”
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as Roscoe Skinner assisted Garnet with her wrap. His hands lingered upon her shoulders just a moment too long for Deacon’s liking. Then, as if feeling his displeasure, Skinner met his glare.
And smiled. Like a crocodile.
“What are you doing?” William whispered in alarm, as a paper of fish hooks disappeared into Christien’s pocket.
“Shush.” Green eyes flashed about to see if anyone had observed the deft sleight of hand or his young friend’s reaction. But as usual, no one paid any attention to them. He made no attempt to put the item back, and instead moved along the counter to the selection of Rodgers and Wolstenholm knives safely encased under glass. “Boy, would my uncle like one of them frog stickers.”
“What’d you take those fish hooks for? They’re not yours. You have to buy them or it’s stealing.”
“Oh, it is not.”
“Is too.”
“Well, don’t go making a big fuss about it. Here.” He pressed the packet into William’s hand. “There. You take ’em.”
“I can’t. It’d be stealing.”
“Naw. It ain’t stealing. Everything in this store belongs to your mama, so it belongs to you, too. If you wanted to give ’em to me, it’d be a gift, not stealing.”
It sounded logical but still not quite acceptable. “I’ll go ask my mama.”
“You big baby,” Christien hissed angrily. “Jus’ forget about it. I was planning to let you go with me.”
“Fishing?” His eyes rounded.
“As soon as it gets warmer. But you can forget about it if you go blabbing to your ma.”
William looked from the forbidden hooks in his hand to Christien’s empty palm. In a quandary over what best to do, he chose his mother’s teaching over his new friend’s bribes.
“I’m putting ’em back.”
With a disgusted frow
n, Christien waited for him to return. “I suppose you’re gonna tell on me.”
That had never occurred to William. He shook his head and Christien was all smiles again.
“Wanna come play at my house? I gots tin soldiers made in France.”
“Really?”
“Paris, France.”
“I’ll have to ask.”
“You go do that, baby boy. I’ll wait for you at the door.” He walked that way, his hand trailing along the counter top with a nonchalance that disguised his palming of whatever lay in its path while William hurried to his mother.
“Mama, Christien wants me to come to his house.”
She glanced outside at the overcast sky. “I don’t know, darling. It looks like it could rain.” Then her gaze fixed on the figure of Constance Collier, with her swinging stride and glorious hat.
“If it rains, we’ll play inside. Say I can go. Pleeeese!”
Distractedly, she waved her hand. “Stay inside.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
And he raced off before she thought to ask him how he meant to get home, automatically assuming the Dodges would bring him either back to the store or out to the Manor.
“Good day, Mrs. Prior. Was that your little boy?”
“My son, William.”
“A handsome child. Have you made a decision on the room?”
“You may move in anytime you’re ready.”
Her gaze shifted to the two men emerging from the office, lingering over the taller of them. “Perhaps Mr. Sinclair could spare a moment to help me with some of the heavier items.”
She said it loudly enough for him to hear. Gallantry wouldn’t allow him to decline.
“I’d be happy to, Mrs. Collier. Mr. Rosen comes in in just a few minutes and I’ll be able to slip away.”
Garnet smiled fiercely. “I’ll leave you in Mr. Sinclair’s hands, then.”
“Yes,” the widow purred, as if she could think of no place she’d rather be. She sauntered over to the counter behind which Deacon had turned. The tonic sharper was busy stacking his medicinal wares. “Mr. Sinclair, would you happen to have a supply of laudanum? I’ve had trouble sleeping off and on since my husband died and find it soothes my nerves.”
The Men of Pride County: The Pretender Page 21
