Lost Fortune (The Unbridled Series Book 1)

by Sandra E Sinclair

  “Well, you wasted no time. I can’t say I’m surprised, the apple never falls far from the tree. You are finished in this town. Finished,” she spat.

  “I would think carefully before throwing out meaningless threats, Mrs. Woolum. Do you know who I am?” Cal asked, his voice barely higher than a whisper.

  “I do not, sir, nor do I care to.”

  “Well then, allow me to introduce myself. I’m sure a social climber such as yourself will surely have heard of my family. My name, ma’am, is Calvin Dalton.” Rilla watched as Mrs. Woolum went as white as mountain snow, and began to stutter.

  “Threaten my betrothed again and you will find yourself most assuredly back on the bottom of that ladder you are trying so desperately to climb.”

  Rilla stared at Cal in wonder. She may not have known who Cal Dalton was, but from the look on Mrs. Woolum’s face, she definitely did.

  Chapter 22

  As the door closed behind Mrs. Woolum, Rilla experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. She was done with that woman and would never have to entertain her ever again if she chose not to. Cal leaned close to her ear, his breath caressing her neck, tickling the hairs at the nape as he enquired after her disposition. His closeness warmed her skin as well as her insides. She assured him she was fine, even though, her mind was boggled by what had just transpired.

  Cal's name appeared to hold meaning, for Mrs. Woolum's reaction was most curious on hearing it. Indeed, it was somewhat perplexing that his name alone had elicited such fear in the woman. Mrs. Woolum had immediately backtracked, quite suddenly seeming to be filled with remorse as she apologized. She’d grasped Rilla’s hand in earnest, begging for forgiveness for her indiscretions and loose tongue.

  Rilla assured her it was of no consequence and all was forgiven.

  Jewel had still yet to return her eyes into their sockets and close her mouth before it became a boardinghouse for flies to take up residence. She stared at Cal disbelieving. Rilla was sure the expression she witnessed on Jewel’s face was most definitely displayed on her own. The only one seemingly unaffected was Mr. Pigeuron, who stood quietly by, wearing a smile.

  “Who are you?” Jewel asked, giving voice to the question burning a hole in Rilla brain. Cal’s only response was to chuckle, take Rilla's hand and lead her back to the lounge. Rilla concluded Cal must be, or his family at least had to be, extremely high up in the societal circle for Mrs, Woolum to have become so contrite and weary of any backlash.

  The woman had left there looking terrified. Cal, on the other hand, had remained calm and collected, with an aloofness about him she hadn't seen before. His manner and speech more refined than previous encounters. It was quite imposing, giving Rilla goose bumps. She suddenly felt shy around him as he led her to the couch and sat beside her.

  This genteelness to Cal’s character was most eye-opening. Although his previous disposition could never be likened to Thomas’s, he had done well in hiding the true nature of his upbringing. The authoritative tone he’d taken with Mrs. Woolum suggested breeding. Cal Dalton was a man used to giving orders and no stranger to gentry.

  “Do you think Mrs. Woolum will contact Mr. Worthington?” Jewel asked, her voice pulling Rilla from her thoughts. She took a seat in one of the armchairs opposite Rilla and Cal, as did Mr. Pigeuron.

  “It's not an improbability,” Mr. Pigeuron said, scratching his jaw.

  “I doubt that she will. I made my position quite clear to her. She may be dim-witted, but she is not so stupid as to go against me,” Cal said, and squeezed Rilla's hand. The sensation took her breath away. She struggled not to swoon from the rise in temperature of the room, or was it just her? Everyone else seemed unmoved.

  “However, as a precaution, and with your approval of course, Miss Rilla, I will occupy the east wing with Mr. Pigeuron until we are wed,” Cal continued.

  He stared deep into her eyes, seeking her permission. Overwhelmed by his presence, an imperceptive nod was all she could manage.

  “Good, I will send someone to the hotel to collect my belongings. For although I know with absolute certainty Mrs. Woolum will say nothing of what transpired earlier, my experience of Wyatt Worthington tells me he will be back. And I dare say, he won’t be alone when he returns.”

  “I agree,” Pigeuron said. “He’s like a dog with a bone.”

  “I think, the sooner we get married, the better. My staying here could cause further scandal,” Cal said. He locked his fingers with Rilla’s. “Come walk with me, if you’re feeling up to it.” Cal rose, still holding her hand.

  Rilla nodded, and stood with him.

  “Before you take your walk, I have an excellent idea. Why don’t we have a double wedding?”

  Rilla stared at Jewel in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Thomas and I have already booked the church a week from now. It wouldn’t take anything away to add another couple.”

  “I’m agreeable. I don’t care if we’re alone or have a hundred brides and grooms all lined up in a row. As long as I am able to put right the wrong I’ve done you, I’ll be content with that. Miss Rilla?” Cal gently tugged on her hand.

  “How can I refuse when everyone else’s mind is already made up?”

  “Excellent, I will go and make the necessary arrangements. I wonder if the girls are ready for another field trip.” Jewel chortled, and followed them out of the room.

  In the garden, they strolled in silence toward the cluster of cherry trees. Cal seemed drawn to them, as if going to the tree they sat under the day before held significance for him. He turned to her. “Should we rest here a moment?”

  They sat quietly as Cal stared out into the horizon, and she busied herself staring at his profile. He appeared deep in thought. Rilla worried he was having second thoughts. Her conscience pricked at the fictitious means she’d used to solicit his proposal.

  Unable to contain the need to know what he was thinking, she asked, “You are still willing to marry me?”

  “Of course, whatever have I done to cause you to think otherwise?”

  “I don’t know, you seem troubled.”

  “I was merely thinking of the best way to notify my family of our union, they are somewhat scattered, and then there’s the war. My parents may be cut off from getting here. I would very much like my parents and brothers to be here for our wedding. A week doesn’t give me much time.”

  Rilla gave an inward sigh of relief, however she had no solution to what ailed him.

  “We could postpone for a later date.”

  “I don’t think so. My being here has already compromised your position, sooner is best. I will send a telegram to them all and hopefully they will be able to attend.”

  “Alas, that is not a problem I will encounter. Jewel and Wyatt are all I have, and the latter hates me.”

  “It’s not possible to hate you. It's more probable he hates the idea of you, which is very different.”

  “How so? To me, they are one and the same.”

  “I believe for a man; they are completely different. To Wyatt, I think you are a reminder of his father’s indiscretions, and his mother’s shame. However, he knows you played no part in your parent’s undertakings. So the idea of you would be repugnant to him.”

  Rilla fell silent knowing what Cal said made sense. Was she not the same way, when she found out about her less than Christian start in life?

  Chapter 23

  Wyatt paced back and forth within the confines of his hotel room, his movement labored as his hand thrashed through his hair. Why hadn’t his sister contacted him yet? He stopped pacing and sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his boots, black and shiny, in contrast to the rustic wooden slabs underfoot.

  Wyatt wrinkled his nose. The dullness of the wood bothered him. He compared it to the splendor of the rest of the room, coupled with the amount of money they charged him for the measly space which was barely room to swing a cat. Surely they could afford to have the floor varnished and make i
t a more lavish affair.

  His gaze wandered around the rest of the room and really took in the scenery—the low hanging chandelier, the swirls in the rug. He was still undetermined if it was a genuine Persian rug or something made to resemble one. Well, at least they’d managed to apply a coat of varnish to the shutters in his room. Through the slats he could see the setting sun.

  He’d been there two nights and three days, and hadn’t taken stock of his surroundings until now. He wasn’t best pleased with what he saw. They’d do well to hire a designer and revamp the whole room. Had he noticed it sooner, he’d have asked to move to more exuberant surroundings. The only thing he found agreeable was the bed spread and fine Irish linen sheets.

  Where was Dalton?

  He’d been there for almost two days, and he had yet to see the man. He should have met up with him when he’d first arrived, before going to see Rilla. Now that he’d thought it through, it wasn’t one of his wisest decisions. He’d let his emotions get the better of him, and the results were that he’d left her, feeling even worse and more frustrated about his situation.

  As much as he knew none of this was his sister’s fault, he needed someone to blame, and there wasn’t anyone else. She was all he had, the only vessel available for him to channel his wrath. Her mere existence offended him.

  Wyatt cradled his head in his hand. He felt truly alone, and for the first time in his life, he realized he had no one—no one he could call upon and no one he could call friend. The closest person he had who he could perhaps say they were friendly, was Dalton. Even if the man did look at him with disdain. He’d been the only constant in his life for any length of time other than his servants and his blessed mother.

  He had acquaintances, but no one that he had more than a fleeting interest in. However, his sister had sparked his interest, and had things been different, he was sure they could have been friends. Wyatt’s temper flared. Because of his father, his mother had died before her time, leaving him a pathetic shell without direction.

  Ironically, the only two people he’d even want to be associated with were out of bounds. One of them had discharged his duty to him. Wyatt glanced over at the bill notice on the writing desk under the window. The other, he refused to allow himself to have any feelings for other than hate. Her father…their father had ruined his life. Had his father loved him, the same way he appeared to have loved her, his life could have been different.

  “Enough,” he said aloud. All this thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere. Especially thoughts about his sister. Strange, he’d always wanted a sibling, but now he had one, he couldn’t delight in that fact.

  He did hold one regret. He’d reneged on his word by confiding in Mrs. Woolum sooner than intended. But Rilla’s mishandled attempt to throw him out had riled him beyond the realms of sanity. He’d been rash, but what was done could not be undone.

  The only option left to him was to involve the sheriff and inform him of the thief. Small town sheriffs were extremely fatiguing. Wyatt wondered if he was even qualified to do the job after he’d explained for the fifth time that the man needed to follow him to the Staab’s School for Girls. Eventually he got it, and they were on their way.

  To say Wyatt was surprised to see both Pigeuron and Dalton sitting in his sister’s lounge was an understatement. He couldn’t shake the deep set feeling of treachery toward Cal Dalton. The man worked for him, he had no rights to be here. He would report him to the agency just as soon as he was done here.

  Through gritted teeth, Wyatt snarled, “I don’t pay you to cavort with the enemy.”

  Cal furrowed his brow. “You don’t pay me at all. I no longer work for you.”

  “Howdy, Mr. Dalton,” the sheriff said, running his hand across his mouth.

  “Hello, Sheriff.”

  “Do you want to explain to me, in words I can understand, what’s going on here? If I’m to understand correctly, someone stole something from Mr. Worthington and he wants it back.”

  “Good evening, Sheriff. If you would allow me?” Pigeuron rose from his seat and walked toward the sheriff. “Mr. Worthington is attempting to claim property he has no rights too. If you follow me, I’ll show you the paperwork which spells out Miss Staab’s entitlement.”

  The sheriff turned to Wyatt. “Now see, him I can understand,” he tsked and raised his eyes heavenward.

  “Didn’t have a clue what he was saying. Just knew I had to follow him someplace.” The sheriff addressed the open room, then shook his head and began to follow Pigeuron.

  As he passed Wyatt, he said, “You need to learn to keep things plain.”

  “Wyatt, why are you doing this?” Rilla asked.

  “What am I doing?” He was beginning to think his sister might be as dense as the sheriff.

  “You’re persecuting me for something I had no control over.”

  “Your father—”

  “Our father—”

  “Your father is the cause of all this unpleasantness. All he had to do was leave everything to me. I’m the one who suffered to get it, not you, in your fancy school overseas.”

  “I feel sorry for you, but you need to let the past go. There is nothing for you here. Had you come and spoken with me, things could have been very different. But you chose to scandalize my name.”

  He heard the sharp catch in her voice, and something shifted inside him. Was it guilt?

  “You can blame your parents for that. When the sheriff returns, we’ll see what’s what.”

  “What you will see, Mr. Worthington, is that we’re in the state of California where women are allowed to own property in their own name. You, sir, have had a wasted journey,” Cal said.

  To think he’d almost called this treacherous scoundrel, friend.

  “Yes, sir, he’s right, Mr. Worthington. All the paperwork was drawn up and notarized in California. There is nothing you, nor I, can do to change that. Sorry for disturbing your evening, folks,” the sheriff said, walking back into the room, with Mr. Pigeuron.

  Wyatt had never felt so defeated in his life. She’d beaten him. The hole in his chest just got two feet wider. He was almost at the door when Rilla called him back.

  “Sheriff, can I have a moment with my brother.”

  “Sure, it’s not like I’ve got anything else I’d rather be doing.”

  “Would you come with me?”

  What would she want to talk to him about? Maybe she wanted to gloat. He would go, but only to satisfy his curiosity.

  “I’m coming too,” Cal said.

  They left the others in the lounge and went out into the hall. “Here’s what I propose. I keep the house and land, and we divide the gold mine shares fifty-fifty.”

  “Why would you do that?” The hole inside him just got smaller. “Don’t think I’m grateful to you for giving me half of what’s mine in the first place. Because I’m not.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude, but I do think you have as much entitlement to the gold as I do.”

  “And if it will keep you from exposing Rilla’s legitimacy further, I will purchase you a property of equal value to this one.”

  Wyatt raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Where are you going to get the money to do that?”

  Cal rolled his eyes. “Let me worry about that. Do we have a deal?”

  “It’s too late...I’ve already told Mrs. Woolum.” Wyatt’s stomach contracted and he felt physically sick even voicing what he’d done. He swallowed.

  “Let me worry about that too.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Miss Staab and I are to be married.”

  The hole in his chest got smaller still. He couldn’t fathom it. Was he actually happy for her?

  “I won’t tell anyone else. As for the property, I don’t need it. I have two already. Tell the sheriff I’ll meet him outside.”

  Wyatt walked out, his head held high. Maybe he was wrong to have been so hard on his sister. She didn’t deserve half of what he’d try to do t
o her. His anger was misplaced. Maybe one day he might heal enough to reach out to her and have a proper relationship like real brothers and sisters did.

  Chapter 24

  The week had gone by so quickly. Cal had wired his family, and they all said they would be there, even his parents, who were supposedly stuck behind enemy lines. More surprising was hearing his brother, said to be a prisoner of the States, would be there too.

  Rilla’s jaw ached from smiling so much. She had never known such happiness. Cal had been a most attentive suitor. He catered to her every whim. She wanted for nothing as he lavished her with gifts, and since moving into the east wing, leaving her side ceased to be an option for him. He’d sent a wire to the agency to tell them he was taking time off to get married.

  They’d spend many evenings reading to each other under their cherry tree. Or Cal would enthral her with tales of his adventures working for the agency. In turn, Rilla would recount her own tales of what life was like living in France.

  She spoke of the difference in fashion, informing him Parisian male clothes differed slightly to the clothes worn by the men in America. As well as the fact that most Frenchmen were more perfumed than American men.

  This made Cal laugh as he teasingly stated, “So what you’re really saying is that Frenchmen smell like women?”

  Their time together was so thrilling, but her deception to get Cal to the altar became a constant worry. She needed to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to be his wife in name alone, she’d grown to love him. When she thought about it, she’d probably loved him from the first time she laid eyes on him back on that crowded train pulling into a Boston station.

  Two days before the wedding, while on one of their walks, she decided to confess. “Cal, I need to tell you. I used trickery in getting you to propose. I turned your guilt to my advantage, and now I feel ashamed.”

  “I gathered as much, soon after you threw yourself across the room. I’m not considered one of the best Pinkerton detectives for nothing. It wasn’t difficult to see the performance was perhaps a poor attempt to convince me to marry you.” He smiled and stroked her cheek, to lessen the bite of his sharp response.