Lucas shrugged. “I can’t say I would have had the good fortune to marry Genevieve if we hadn’t been forced together by circumstances. I would have nursed my resentment toward her sister for years.” He steepled his fingers. “Sometimes we need something to give us a nudge to force us to act.”
Patrick snorted. “Col needed a nudge ten years ago.” He chuckled as Colin batted him on his arm. “Go home tomorrow, Col. See your Araminta.”
Colin shrugged. “I’ll return by tomorrow night. I was a fool to leave, but I couldn’t stay there and imagine her happy, planning her wedding. Not when I’m miserable.”
Patrick’s gaze held a shadow for a moment. “I’ve found that women are more pragmatic than we expect. Speak with her, and I have a feeling you’ll learn that she acted for reasons that would surprise you.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, an infant’s cry sounding and almost instantly soothed. “Genevieve is with Lizzie,” Lucas said. “I’m sorry you might not see her this trip, but she was already in her crib for the evening when you came over.”
Colin smiled. “I’ll visit tomorrow, before I catch the late train to Missoula. I have to see my young cousin and bring a report back to Missoula about how she fares, or Clarissa would skin me alive.” He looked from his brother to his cousin. “How are things with Smythe and Sanders?”
Lucas shook his head in frustration. “Too calm, wouldn’t you agree, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded. “Yes. We rarely see Mrs. Smythe lingering on a nearby street corner any longer, although I know she is still here because I see her infrequently as I walk through Uptown.” He scratched at his head. “I should be satisfied that she hasn’t attempted anything, but I know she is plotting something.”
“She’s always plotting something,” Colin murmured.
“Exactly,” Lucas said. “I’ve hired no new servants, and the ones who work here are loyal to us. They know they will be dismissed from a well-paying job if they attempt to cross us.” His jaw clenched as he thought about Joseph Rigionneri, the young man he’d offered work to last summer. He had also worked for Samuel Sanders in an attempt to steal Rose away from Patrick and Fiona.
“Does Sanders still want Rose?” Colin asked.
Patrick shrugged and then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s Fiona’s worst fear, having Rose stolen from us. But we don’t know what Sanders and Mrs. Smythe will do next.”
Colin shook his head in confusion. “It makes no sense to me. He intentionally used Fiona for information about our family and then left her with child, with no intention of providing for her or her baby. Why would he now want that child?”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Power. He’ll do anything he can to harm Gabriel or someone from his family. And we are an extension of Gabriel’s family.”
Patrick fisted his hands. “I agree with Colin. It still makes no sense. However, we are vigilant, and we will be until he is either far from Butte or dead.”
“I’d be vigilant until he’s dead and I’ve spat on his grave,” Colin muttered. He shared a remorseless look with his brother. “He is not a man to be mourned.”
Patrick nodded. “I know. I hate that I ever befriended him.” He let out a long breath as he fought his guilt at his short-lived friendship with Gabriel’s cousin when Patrick had first arrived in Butte. He’d had no idea at the time that Samuel Sanders and Henry Masterson were the same person and that Patrick was being used to get to Gabriel. “However, I have a sense that their focus has changed.” He looked at Colin. “I don’t know why, but I’d be careful, brother.”
* * *
Bartholomew Bouchard followed the attractive secretary down the long hallway to a large office on the top floor of the Hennessy building in Uptown Butte. The view from the windows over Uptown Butte to the flats was impressive and also gave the momentary sensation that the onlooker was in the clouds. A quick glance around the office showed artwork of landmarks in Butte and a few paintings of Boston. He focused on the man behind the desk and held out his hand. “Samuel,” he said, his smile broad and friendly.
“Bart,” Samuel said, motioning for him to sit on one of the chairs across from him. “It’s about time you visited me. You’ve been in Montana for over a year now.” Samuel exuded a determination of purpose that belied his slim frame that made him appear otherwise weak.
Bart sighed and unbuttoned his jacket, relaxing into his chair. “You knew it would take time to establish myself in Missoula. My uncle is loyal to family, but he isn’t a fool.”
Samuel nodded. “I presume you’ve proven to him your financial prowess.” At Bart’s nod, he grunted with satisfaction. “Good.” He tapped a newspaper in front of him. “I was pleased to finally read of your engagement.”
“As with all things, it took longer than expected.”
Samuel snorted, his hands crossed over his belly as he studied Bart. “I thought you were the man for this job. I assured my associate you were. However, it’s taken much longer than we would have liked for this announcement.” He tapped the article again, smudging his fingers with black ink. “I will be very disappointed if you allow the cripple to escape your net.”
Bartholomew flushed. “She’s not a cripple, Sam.” He glared at the man he had met over a decade ago in New York City before the financial crisis in 1907. “And she has accepted me. There is no reason to believe she will renege.”
Samuel shook his head. “Of course there is. She’s a woman, and they never keep their word. Besides, she’s besotted with that Sullivan fool, and, if he were to crook his finger at her, she’d run to him.” He leaned forward, and his soft voice became rapier precise. “You’ve already been played a fool twice, Bart. Don’t be that man again.”
Bartholomew’s cheeks glowed with shame. “I never expected to be on the receiving end of a con.”
Samuel laughed. “Not when you had always been the one pulling off the scheme!” He cleared his throat. “Now I will be at your wedding. And I want to be assured it will occur.”
Bartholomew sat back and watched the man who was as much an adversary as a friend. “What more reassurance do you want?”
“If it doesn’t happen, then she’ll have an unfortunate fatal accident. That family must continue to suffer, and the only one who hasn’t yet is Colin.” He shrugged. “Personally I wouldn’t spend much time on him as he seems a charming buffoon, and I’d rather focus on my cousins, but my … colleague wants his aim on Colin.”
Bartholomew paled and glared at Samuel. “I want nothing to happen to Miss Araminta.”
Samuel’s laughter grated like nails on a chalkboard. “Don’t tell me that you’ve developed feelings for the pathetic woman who doesn’t even have a last name? She’s a nobody who no one would miss.”
Bartholomew furrowed his brows and shook his head. “That’s where I’m afraid you are wrong. Too many people in Missoula like and respect her. She isn’t unknown, and there would be an inquest. After what happened here in Butte last October with Patrick Sullivan’s daughter, I think you should be cautious before rousing any more interest from the police.” Bartholomew’s eyes glowed, and he shared a nefarious smile with Samuel. “If your target is truly Colin, then a threat of sedition, from a respectable man such as myself, generally quiets everyone down.”
Samuel’s expression was serenely doubtful. He watched Bartholomew for long minutes before finally nodding. “So be it. Don’t make me act.”
* * *
Colin sat on the settee in Genevieve’s small sitting room, holding his nearly six-month-old niece on his lap. He held up a shiny object and laughed when she attempted to grab it. “She’s very smart, Genevieve.”
Genevieve beamed with pride. “She is. Every day she does something new. I never knew how much I would love being a mother.”
Colin smiled at her, noting her rosy cheeks, shiny brown hair and glowing brown eyes. “You were made for it,” he teased as he picked up Lizzie and held her high a moment before lowering her.
He did that a few times before tucking her into his side. Faint piano notes sounded from the nearby music room.
“Lucas will join us soon,” Genevieve said.
“Oh, I’m not worried. I saw him already on this trip. This visit was to see you and my darling niece.” He rubbed his nose against Lizzie’s. “Yes, darling girl, I consider you my niece, as does Clarissa. You will have your fair share of us loving and protecting you. Which is only right, considering who you’re named after. A marvelous woman who loved and protected all she held dear.”
Genevieve’s eyes filled. “I wish I could have met your aunt Betsy.”
Colin nodded. “It’s still hard to believe she’s been gone for seven years. But her legacy to us was one of love and understanding.” He rose and wandered the well-lit room, pausing as he approached a side window that overlooked a tiny side yard and their neighbor’s house. “I don’t remember this.”
Genevieve rose, laughing. “That’s because Lucas just had it commissioned six weeks ago, and they finished it last week. With our neighbors’ permission of course.” Tickling her daughter’s foot, she stared out the window with Colin. Their neighbor’s wall, devoid of windows, had previously been a plain, boring brick wall. Now a mural of an English rose garden was painted on it. “It is rather whimsical.”
Colin kissed Lizzie’s head. “He learned Aunt Betsy’s lessons well, Genevieve. I imagine growing a real rose garden would be rather difficult in Butte.” He shared a smile with the woman he considered cousin.
“It’s impossible. I’ve already tried and failed twice.” She became teary eyed as she stared at the mural. “The only thing I’ll miss is the beautiful smell of fresh roses in my garden, although Lucas buys them often for me to enjoy inside.”
Colin grunted and walked around the room. “Lucas is lucky to have you.”
Genevieve sat and watched Colin’s restless wanderings around the room with her daughter in his arms. “Why aren’t you in Missoula? I’ve never heard of you leaving your smithy in the middle of the week before. Unless it’s a holiday.”
He eyed her for any deceit and then asked, “Haven’t you heard the news?” At her shrug, he said, “Araminta is to marry another.”
Her eyes rounded, and she frowned. “You must stop her. She wants you, Colin. She always has.”
“She might have a few years ago, but she hasn’t lately. She’s besotted with Bartholomew Bouchard, banker and businessman.” He speared her with a dour look. “I have plenty of other words that begin with B for him.” He fought a smile as she giggled.
“Every time we are together, she always knows where you are. She is deeply attuned to you.” She bit her lip as her words seemed to cause him distress.
“If she is, it’s because she wants to avoid any possible interaction with me.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Genevieve, but I’m rotten company.” He kissed baby Lizzie again and handed her to her mother.
Genevieve accepted her daughter but then clung to his hand. “Colin, I know what it is to fear that the person I love can never truly love me. I was wrong, as Araminta is wrong about you. Help her overcome that fear, and you will be happy. More than you ever could have imagined.”
* * *
Bartholomew wandered into one of the over two hundred bars in Butte and paid for a glass of beer. He moved to the side of the small room, leaning against a wall as he sipped his drink. Although a cool wind blew outside, breaking the heat wave, a fine sweat lined his brow.
“Are ye comin’ down with somethin’ lad?” an Irish miner asked. When Bartholomew shook his head and smiled his thanks at his concern, the man joined his friends and left Bartholomew to his thoughts.
He closed his eyes and fought a fine tremor. The summons to come to Butte had arrived yesterday, and his uncle had believed Bart’s yarn about attending to a private commission with an old client. He was adept enough to bluff his way out of having to showcase any newly acquired account from this trip when he returned to Missoula.
The tremor turned into a shiver as he thought about Samuel Sanders. They had met in the early 1900s when the economy was on a roll and when everything they touched seemed to turn to profits. Then it all had tumbled to dust around them, and they had scurried out of New York as fast as possible. Bartholomew to San Francisco and Samuel to God-knows-where. After a few years, Bart had resurrected his reputation and career, masterly portraying himself as the victim in his loss of wealth in 1907, rather than the advisor to clients who lost entire fortunes. After two schemes failed to produce their desired outcome in San Francisco, he had agreed to an exile in Montana at his uncle’s bank.
“Goddamn Samuel,” he muttered. “He would be in Montana.” He took a sip of his drink and then frowned at finding it empty. He had hoped to never see him again after New York and had hoped the announcement of his appointment to his uncle’s bank in Missoula had remained local news and beneath Samuel’s notice. However, soon after his arrival, he had received a letter, advising him of what was expected of him if he were to continue to have his secrets remain just that.
He jolted as a hand slapped him on his shoulder.
“Bouchard.”
He stiffened and stood tall. “Sullivan.” He met the irate, wounded blue eyes of Araminta’s most ardent admirer. And Samuel’s latest target. “What brings you to Butte?”
Colin tilted his head to the side as he studied him. “The same could be asked of you. I have family here, and I wanted to see how my cousin and his baby are. How my brother and his family are.” He took in Bartholomew’s slightly disheveled state, the frustration glinting in his gaze that he was unable to conceal and his empty glass. “Seems your business isn’t to your liking.”
“They are quite satisfactory. It just proves how little you know about anything of importance, blacksmith. Perhaps you’ve spent too long near an anvil.”
Colin squinted at him. “I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say with that, but I’m still of sound hearing, sound mind and even sounder judgment, banker.”
Bartholomew stood to his full height and met Colin’s glare. “Then, if you are, you’ll understand that Miss Araminta has made her decision. I hope you are astute enough to respect her choice.”
Colin’s eyes flashed with pain before he could hide his reaction. “I will never accept that you are good enough for her.”
“You will have to because we will marry in October. With or without your blessing.” He shared a long stare with Colin for a moment before he pushed past him and out the door, only belatedly realizing he held the bar’s glass. He handed it to a man entering the establishment and headed to his hotel, unable to shake the sense that his future was on the verge of unraveling.
Chapter 12
A soft insistent knocking on her door roused Araminta out of a daydream. She smiled ruefully. Or a night dream, she thought to herself. She rose, opening the door a few inches to determine who visited on a Friday evening. Bartholomew was in Butte on business, and she did not expect to see him until she joined him for Sunday dinner with his family. She glared at the person on the other side of her threshold. “Why are you here?” she whispered, hating the defeated tone of her voice. “I thought you were in Butte.”
“Let me in, Ari.” A push on the door caused it to creak open, and Colin eased inside. He shut it behind him and paused to look around the room. A comfortable, worn settee was against one wall while two stuffed chairs flanked it. A small table on the opposite wall with wooden chairs formed the tiny dining area while a miniscule kitchen area at the far wall made up the kitchen. A single door led to a tiny bedroom while the bathroom was down the hall.
“You being here doesn’t help anything,” she said in a low voice. “If someone saw you enter …” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head in resignation.
“If they did, it would only aid my cause.” He roamed around, smiling at the small mementos on tabletops. He recognized a colorful rock Rory had so proudly brought home after an afternoon’s adventure, a piece of
gnarled wood Myrtle had insisted Araminta keep and a photograph of all of them from a few summers ago.
“And what would that be? To completely disgrace me in front of the townspeople?”
He spun to face her, shock and dismay replacing his joy at her eclectic collection. “Never, Ari. I’d never want to cause you pain.”
She rolled her eyes at him as she plopped onto a chair. “I’ll ask again, Colin. Why are you here?”
His gaze roved over her, taking in her casual dress, a few buttons opened at the collar, with sleeves rolled to her elbows. She’d kicked off her shoes and stockings, and he grinned at seeing her so at home. “I’ve never seen you this relaxed before. You’ve always been busy. Taking care of us.”
“I saved enough money to afford my own place last year and my privacy,” she whispered. “And it’s hot tonight.”
“Yes. I remember you calling it your refuge.” His gaze sharpened as he watched her flush. “I can see why you wanted a place that was wholly yours and had nothing to do with us.”
“You make me sound ungrateful for what your family did for me since I left Boston and the orphanage fifteen years ago. I’m not.”
Colin sat on the sofa, facing her, his expression earnest as he attempted to conceal his desperation. “I’m not criticizing, Ari. I’m saying, I understand. You wanted a place of your own. As I did. As most people do. And you finally have it. I couldn’t be prouder of you.” He frowned as his words evoked tears. “What have I done to upset you now?”
He reached a hand out to stroke her cheek, but she leaned away from him. “No, Colin. You had your chance. You need to leave me alone.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t ask me to stop caring for you.”
Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight Page 22
