“Come in,” Iverson called.
The clerk brought in a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, a pitcher of hot milk, and a cone of sugar.
“Ah, here we are,” Iverson said with a smile. “May I pour for you, Mrs. Stone?”
“Yes, please.”
When they were settled with their tea and the clerk had backed out of the room and closed the door, Iverson said carefully, “Now, Mrs. Stone, I must tell you that if your husband has a notion of—”
“I told you, my husband doesn’t know I am here.”
“You did say that, but even so, I must say that if he hopes to break the entailment—”
Merrileigh laughed, and Iverson stared at her, his face flushing.
“Sir, as to my husband and his notions, well, truthfully, he hasn’t any. It is I who make the inquiry. Not for my husband—he is content to let his cousin resume his place at Stoneford. Not for myself—for I know my place, and I am satisfied with my position in life.” It was a lie, but she hoped the color it brought to her cheeks would be interpreted as modesty. “I am asking on behalf of my children, sir. For it is they who will suffer.”
“Suffer?”
“If David Stone were to die this instant, my husband would become Earl of Stoneford.”
“Well, yes,” Iverson said cautiously. “That is, if Mr. David Stone has no direct heirs.”
“But he hasn’t. Mr. Conrad told my husband last winter, when your office first heard from David, that he was living in the Oregon Territory, unmarried. Without issue, as the law says—no children. And that means that if my husband did ever inherit the title, our eldest, Albert, would follow him.”
“Well…he would certainly be the next in line if that were the case.” Iverson frowned at her. “But madam, as I was going to tell you before, if you have any idea of the title bypassing Mr. David Stone and coming to your husband—or your son—without going through proper channels, well, that would be quite impossible. However, if you did want to pursue such a notion, it would be best for you to seek out an attorney not connected to the Stone family. You see, whatever happens, we here at Conrad and Iverson are committed to serving the earl. And right now the heir apparent to the title is David Stone.”
“Oh please.” Merrileigh touched a hand to her lips. “I hadn’t a whisper of an idea that we would try to break the entailment. No, that belongs to David, if he is able to claim it.”
“Then I fail to see the purpose of this conversation.”
Merrileigh studied him thoughtfully. The junior solicitor did not seem at all inclined to favor the idea of Randolph or Albert being in a position to inherit the earldom. She must tread carefully.
She shrugged and gave him a smile. “I expect you’ll think me silly, Mr. Iverson, but I thought perhaps it would be in the family’s interest to send someone across to—to ensure David Stone’s safety. We all know he was attacked in Oregon.”
“Yes.” Iverson rubbed his jawbone absently. “Odd thing that. We never did find out what was behind it.”
“I suppose it was a random incident,” Merrileigh said quickly. “Some Yankee thug out to rob him. But really, I think it might be wise to send a…a sort of bodyguard to meet him in New York and accompany him here.”
Iverson shook his head. “I regret to say, ma’am, that the trustees are not allowed to spend money on such an agenda. But I understand that Mr. Stone is not destitute, that he has made a small fortune under his own auspices in America. If he feels he needs guarding, he is perfectly capable of hiring some trustworthy men to look out for him.”
She sighed. “I suppose you are right and there’s no need for me to worry. Forgive me for wasting your time, sir.” It was clear that the solicitor would not prevail upon the trustees for an expenditure of that nature, and therefore any possibility of Merrileigh persuading the emissary to do a little extra work on her behalf was out of the question. She rose and gathered her reticule and fan.
Iverson jumped up. “Not at all, ma’am. I’m sure Mr. Stone would appreciate your concern.”
“Hmm. It will be a relief to us all when he’s home and officially instated.”
“Then we agree.” Iverson smiled and guided her to the door.
Merrileigh bid him good day and went out to her hackney. She wished she hadn’t come. It was worse than a wasted half hour—she’d put a hint in Iverson’s mind that she opposed David’s claiming his title. And Iverson had neither confirmed nor denied her mention of New York as David’s port of embarkation. She’d have done better to keep quiet. And now she had to pay for the time the cabby had waited for her—Peregrin wasn’t here to play the gallant for his sister this time. She felt very sour indeed when she descended from the carriage in front of her house and handed over several coins to the driver. Where would she find a man to carry out the task she wanted done for the pittance she would be able to offer?
CHAPTER 11
David purchased two tickets the next morning, relieved that he was able to book passage through to Independence. Millie was prompt, meeting him outside the stage stop. She carried the same battered valise she’d left The Dalles with. David made sure no one was watching them when he handed over her ticket. He then strolled over to watch the tenders hitch up the team, thus avoiding conversation with her.
“We’ll be meeting a wagon train on the first stage,” the driver told him. “A couple of troopers from their escort rode in last night. Said they’re camped six miles east of here.”
“Will that delay us?” David asked.
“Naw, we’ll go around ’em.”
Two men joined them in the coach—bearded men dressed as farmers. They seemed to know each other but said little. David let Millie and the others board first and wound up sitting beside her. He kept to his corner, and she stayed in hers.
They met the wagon train head-on a few miles out. The wagons were strung out in four or five columns to lessen the dust, but even so, it choked the coach passengers. They kept the windows shut, but it drifted in through cracks and settled on their clothing. David’s eyes began to water. Millie, he noted, was still using the linen handkerchief he’d given her in Idaho Territory. No matter—he still had half a dozen, and had found a laundry on one of his delays. By this time he knew well enough to carry two at all times.
Hers looked clean when she took it out. That meant she’d washed it at least once, maybe several times. Millie somehow kept a clean, neat appearance under the abominable travel conditions. He did wonder about her scanty wardrobe. Perhaps she’d never had many clothes, only given the illusion of bounty as part of her confidence game.
He wished he could chat with the wagon master or his scouts and pick up some news, but probably what he’d heard at the fort was as fresh as any these travelers would have.
Nebraska seemed endless. David reminded himself countless times that crossing it had taken much longer when he’d done it with three freight wagons. Ten or fifteen miles a day was all they’d done on that trip, at the pace of oxen. The stagecoach was doing ten times that, easily.
Whenever possible, he avoided sitting next to Millie or directly across from her. Still, she looked and smelled better than a lot of people they wound up sharing their cramped space with. Looking at her was preferable to gazing at some grizzled old prospector or a glittery card sharp.
David kept his mind from dwelling on Millie by thinking about England. If all went well, he’d be at Stoneford in a couple of months. He looked forward to spending autumn at the country estate. He hoped the letter he had sent via ship before leaving Oregon had reached the family’s solicitor by now.
Of course, he’d communicated to the solicitor earlier. David’s niece, Anne, had insisted he do so shortly after she’d found him in Oregon and broken the news of her father’s death to him. Even if David never claimed the estate and the title that went with it, she had prevailed on him to let Conrad know he was alive and eligible to do so. That would put many minds to rest in England, she had said.
Now David wondered if that had been the wisest course. After all, an assassin had tried to kill him eighteen months ago. His right shoulder still ached every time it rained, and probably would for the rest of his life. Who had paid Peterson? They’d never found out.
If only the experimental telegraph cable under the Atlantic was completed. He could get a message to Conrad in minutes, if that succeeded. At least when he reached St. Louis, he’d be able to send a telegram to New York and have it forwarded to England on the next steamship.
At a way station came a welcome break from his reverie. The passengers all got out to use the necessary, then boarded again. The other two men lingered, and for a few minutes, David and Millie were the only two in the coach. The silence between them stretched into awkwardness. A real gentleman would make polite conversation. Most women would have spoken unbidden. David suspected Millie didn’t dare utter a word for fear of offending him.
At last he could stand it no longer. “You seem to bear the rigors of the journey well, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I cannot complain—but if I did, it would do no good.”
He smiled. “Indeed. I give thanks often that we’re moving forward. I ask no more.”
She nodded, then said hesitantly, “Might I inquire after your niece’s health, Mr. Stone?”
“Anne? She’s fine. Married and happily settled.”
“Oh? I’m pleased to hear that. Has she gone back to England then?”
“No, she married an American. Daniel Adams. He was with her in Scottsburg.”
Millie’s cheeks pinked up, the highest color he’d seen in them since the day of Sam’s interment. He realized that Millie had met Anne and Daniel at the time when Sam had impersonated him. Perhaps she was thinking now of the gown she had stolen from Anne’s trunk. But David could never mention that. Only a churl would overtly remind her of her past. And she said she’d changed. Had she really? None of the other passengers had complained of missing wallets or trinkets. Perhaps she really had given up stealing.
Her choice not to attach herself to one of the cavalry officers at Fort Laramie still stymied him. Wasn’t that one of her old tricks? Playing up to a man with means? Perhaps none of the unmarried men at the fort had enough income to suit her. And of course she’d rather get back East, where the standard of living was higher. The Millie—or rather, the Charlotte—he knew wanted a much higher standard than a career army man or a farmer in some soddy could give her.
He found it ironic that Anne had married a farmer-turned-stagecoach-agent, and her lovely personal maid, Elise Finster, had settled for a rancher who’d been the scout on their wagon train. And here was Millie, born into poverty, yet apparently too good to marry an American pioneer. With her looks and domestic skills, she could have had her pick of men in Eugene. But it seemed she needed a man of a higher class. Well, if David had anything to say about it, she would never know that he was born to the aristocracy. So far as he knew, she’d never learned about the earldom waiting for him across the Atlantic. If she found out about that, he feared she would try again to sink her claws in.
“Now was that the gentleman who…”
The door to the coach opened, and Millie let her sentence trail off unfinished. David was just as glad. Too close an examination of their mutual acquaintances could only lead to further embarrassment.
The two hayseeds got in, followed by a man dressed in somewhat dandyish clothing—though if David thought about it, they probably considered him a bit overdressed himself. This man he judged to be in business of some sort, and it wasn’t long before he found out.
The dandy sat directly across from David, and he introduced himself to all and sundry with a booming voice that bounced painfully off the ceiling. “Kendall’s the name. I’m with the Northern Pacific Railroad.”
“Oh, scouting out some new routes?” one of the other men asked.
“Something like that.”
Kendall proceeded to fill them in on his travels and complain about the necessity of depending on stagecoaches.
“It won’t be many years before you can travel from one ocean to the other by rail,” he declared. “And you can rest assured that journey will be more comfortable than this one.”
He moved on to describing the short lines being built in California. “We’ll be pushing up to Oregon soon and then who knows where.”
David stopped listening. It would be awhile before they took rail service to Eugene, where his stage company was based. By then, Dan and Anne ought to have a nice nest egg. Dan could go back to farming if he wanted. Or if he preferred, he could take Anne to England. David would find a place for him at Stoneford. Maybe he should hold the position of land steward open until he knew what Dan wanted to do.
“And you, sir,” Kendall said heartily, fixing his gaze on David. “Where are you bound?”
“Oh, I’m just a traveler headed home.” Immediately David wished he’d worded his reply differently. The three men plied him with inquiries about where “home” was and what he’d been up to.
David smiled as blandly as he could. Americans just didn’t seem to understand the concept of ennui, however, and he felt he had to answer.
“Yes, I’m from England. Haven’t been there in many years.”
“And you’re going there now?” Kendall asked. “Tell me, how are the railroads there?”
David laughed. “I’m afraid there were none when I left, sir. I was but a youth, and things have changed greatly.”
“Ah. I expect you’ll find everything modernized. Will you be going to London?”
“Perhaps. But I plan to go directly to my family home, in the country.”
He glanced over at Millie. Her green eyes watched him, and he thought he detected a great deal of speculation and scheming.
Merrileigh hurried to the hall when she heard her brother’s voice. As the footman took his hat, she beckoned to him and then retreated into the morning room. If Randolph had the chance, he would spirit Peregrin off for an hour to talk about horses and tailors and who knew what.
“Good day, Merry.” The tall young man stooped and kissed her cheek. He was smiling, which made her curious.
“Good morning, darling. I’ve rung for fresh tea. Do sit down.”
Peregrin took a chair nearby. “So. Anything new on the matter we discussed a few days ago?”
“Well yes, I have a great many thoughts on the subject.” Merrileigh picked up her fan and fluttered it languidly. “It appears that Mr. Iverson and associates are firmly attached to David.”
“As they should be,” Peregrin said.
“Yes. Alas, they’ve served all of the Stones since Randolph’s grandfather’s day or earlier, so they are our solicitors as well. But that becomes a conflict of interest in this matter, I’m afraid.”
“So, you’re going to consult a different solicitor?” Peregrin frowned at her. “That will take money.”
“I daresay. But there’s something you need to know.” She leaned toward him and studied his face. Her brother might not be as shrewd as she would like, but he had common sense and a bit of pluck. She hoped he would fall in with her newly formed plans to bring home the title. “Perry, I’m determined that my son shall one day own Stoneford and the title that goes with it. And I’m ready to move toward that end.”
Peregrin frowned. “You indicated that this is not the first time you’ve made an attempt to—shall we say—swing the pendulum of fate in your direction.”
“It’s not. I hired a man who came highly recommended to me. An American known for his efficiency and discretion.”
“And yet he failed.”
“Yes.” Merrileigh sighed. If only Peterson had succeeded in carrying out her plan. But the scanty information she’d been able to gather since that disaster told her only that her distant employee—whom she had never met—had reached his demise in Oregon. She wasn’t certain, but it seemed likely that David Stone had killed Peterson in some sort of altercation. David had certainly been badly
injured and taken some time to recover.
She would never reveal any of that sordid business to anyone—not even her brother. And the person who’d recommended the emissary—a sharp old friend of her father’s who had spent time in America—was gone now. Took a tumble off his hunter last spring and broke his neck. She didn’t know anyone else to turn to if she wanted to hire another emissary willing to carry out her scheme.
No, if she was going to do anything, it had to be on her own, and with only one other person—someone she could trust implicitly. She’d decided Peregrin was that person. Perry, if he thought he stood to gain by it, would do a great deal for her.
She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “I have a new plan, and I’m ready to put it in motion.”
Peregrin’s eyes flickered. “Indeed? I take it Randolph doesn’t know?”
Merrileigh smiled ruefully and shook her head. “No idea at all.”
CHAPTER 12
Missouri
Millie had nearly reached her limits of overland travel—but she had also nearly reached the end of the stage line. At Independence, they could take a local railroad line to St. Louis, cross the river on a steamer, and from there it would be smooth going to Philadelphia by train. She could hardly wait to leave the crowded, smelly stagecoaches behind.
The station agents had packed in as many passengers as possible for the last six or eight stages, and wedged mail sacks between them. Sleep was nearly impossible, though Millie’s eyelids drooped constantly. She made some attempt at each stop to freshen her appearance and always tried to be one of the first back inside the coach, so that she could claim a corner. Even so, discomfort reached new levels.
Nine people squeezed inside, and three or four rode the roof. Extra bags were tied on top with them. Millie didn’t know how the six-horse teams could pull the weight.
David largely ignored her these days, though he did ask her once—quietly, at a nighttime way stop—if she needed more money for food. He seemed to have an endless supply of cash. Fortunately for both of them, Lucky’s gang hadn’t made it down the line to David when they were collecting donations.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 73
