by Cheryl Holt
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Clearly, he fancies her.”
“I suppose.”
Rebecca’s response was tepid and noncommittal.
She was sitting at the breakfast table, with Beatrice as her only companion. Clayton and his guests had reveled late into the night, so none of them would stagger down for hours. She and Beatrice had the room and the food to themselves.
“Why else would he give her those blasted earrings?” Beatrice asked. “I was awake until dawn, trying to figure it out. He must want to marry her.”
“He’s very rich. Maybe it’s simply his nature to make grand gestures.”
“Rich men are never generous. How do you imagine they become rich? It certainly isn’t by throwing their money away on diamond earrings for a silly girl who’s barely out of the schoolroom.”
“Then he might have merely been showing off.”
“What if I wound up with him as my son-in-law? My goodness! What a stroke of luck that would be!”
Rebecca couldn’t bear the conversation another second, and she wasn’t about to continue participating in it. Her own relationship was developing with Mr. Shawcross, and she was about to bust with the dangerous news that he’d snuck into her bedchamber.
How could she keep herself from being buried by all the secrets that were piling up?
She swallowed her last bite of food, then said, “I realize you’ve placed Mr. Shawcross up on a pedestal, but may I share an issue about him that’s vexing me?”
“You may share whatever you like—so long as it’s not derogatory.”
Rebecca was conflicted and feeling horridly guilty. Beatrice was eagerly mulling the possibility that Mr. Shawcross might wed Millicent, but Rebecca was sure it would never happen. He was raising their expectations for no reason Rebecca could discern, and he’d told her he wasn’t sincere about her cousin.
It was obvious he had a scheme proceeding, and Clayton was at the center of it, but Clayton was a buffoon who wouldn’t notice a runaway carriage barreling down on him until it was too close to avoid being trampled.
It would never occur to him to wonder why he’d been befriended by such a wealthy, notorious fellow. Clayton believed he was interesting and remarkable, and he’d view the alliance as being precisely what he deserved.
There was so much chaos brewing that Rebecca simply thought she should brace herself and be ready to duck when they began to be pelted by the rubble of the mess Mr. Shawcross fomented.
“It’s not exactly derogatory,” she said, “but there are a few facts I think you should know.”
Beatrice tossed down her fork. “Such as?”
“He and his brother have been here for several days. They delivered Clayton’s horses, and they camped out in the barn and pretended to be ordinary working men.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I have no idea, but perhaps—before you get too excited about his flirting with Millicent—you should find out.”
“I don’t need to find out. Clayton has vouched for him and that’s all the information I require.”
“There’s one other piece of it.”
“I’m absolutely on pins and needles waiting for you to apprise me.”
“When Mr. Shawcross arrived at the party, Mr. Melville was still present. He watched Mr. Shawcross dance attendance on Millicent, and he was very hurt by it.”
“Why would I care about that?”
“He plans to marry Millicent. You can’t act as if you’re unaware of his intentions.”
“Well, he might be dreaming about having her as his bride, but he’s never taken any steps to make it a reality. If Mr. Shawcross asks for her hand, I won’t hesitate to accept. Mr. Melville is nice enough, but there’s no comparison between them.”
Rebecca inhaled a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Mr. Melville recognized him. They were acquainted at school as boys.”
“So? Mr. Melville went to school forever. He likely had many classmates.”
“He claimed Mr. Shawcross’s surname is Stone. That it’s Raven Stone. He was quite adamant about it.”
At Rebecca voicing the name Stone, Beatrice blanched with astonishment, but she quickly recovered her aplomb as she casually inquired, “Stone, is it? I’ve never heard of the family.”
Beatrice might have denied any knowledge, but she glanced away, her furtiveness providing blatant evidence that she was lying.
“We should contact Sir Sidney’s son, Sebastian Sinclair,” Rebecca said.
Beatrice scowled. “Why would we?”
“I’m not positive Mr. Shawcross is who he says he is. He might be an imposter. Even as we speak, the real Mr. Shawcross might be sitting in London and not at Carter Crossing at all.”
“Why would he impersonate the real Mr. Shawcross?”
“Who can guess? He has a plot hatching, and I predict—when he reveals what it is—we’ll all be burned by it. I hope Clayton hasn’t loaned him any money.”
Beatrice huffed with aggravation. “Clayton’s finances aren’t any of your concern.”
“No, they’re not, but if Mr. Shawcross is a confidence artist, and he’s duping Clayton, we’ll all be sorry.”
“Your comments are noted.” Beatrice gestured to Rebecca’s empty plate. “You’re finished eating, so you’re excused. With so many guests in residence, you have plenty of chores.”
Rebecca sighed. What more could she do? She’d tried to warn Beatrice that dodgy events were occurring, but she wouldn’t listen.
She pushed back her chair and stood. “If it all blows up later on, please don’t blame me.”
“You’re excused, Rebecca,” Beatrice stated more sharply. “If you stumble on Millicent, notify her I have to talk to her right away.”
“About what?”
“If I thought it was any of your business, I’d tell you Mr. Shawcross is taking her on a carriage ride.”
“After what I just told you, you’ll encourage her to join him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Besides, you’ve always been jealous of her. You’re merely sowing seeds of distrust in my mind, so I’ll reject Mr. Shawcross if he proposes.”
“I am jealous of Millicent? Are you joking?”
“No. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to learn you’d like to wreck this for her.”
“That might be the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I doubt that. I’m sure I’ve said many other things that were much more horrid, and I’ve had enough of you for one morning.”
Beatrice began eating again, making it clear that Rebecca was dismissed. She spun away and stomped out.
* * * *
“What is it, Mother?” Millicent asked. “Rebecca demanded I attend you at once. I was hardly dressed.”
“I have some news.”
“About what?”
“About Mr. Shawcross.”
Beatrice was still seated at the dining table, having continued to feast after Rebecca’s departure. Millicent plopped into the chair across and inquired, “Which Mr. Shawcross?”
“The older one.”
“What about him?”
“He’s taking you for a carriage ride this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Millicent wrinkled up her nose. “Must I go?”
When Beatrice was a girl, she’d never been pretty or popular. She’d never had suitors lined up at her door, but if she’d ever had a dashing rake like Raven Shawcross stroll in her parlor, she’d have fainted dead away.
“Must you go?” She was aghast. “You act as if it would be a huge burden.”
“He’s so grouchy, and with all those black clothes, he seems quite sinister to me. He and I would have nothing in common.”
“He’s rich as Croesus,” Beatrice pointed out, “and he’s famous to boot. It doesn’t matter if you like him or not. If he deigns to spend time with you, you’ll agree with a smile on your face.”
&nb
sp; “I like his brother much better. He’s much more charming.”
“His brother? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“They’re not aristocrats. If I set my cap for the other one, it’s not as if I’ll be losing out on a dukedom.”
“A woman never picks the younger brother. It’s ludicrous.”
“Maybe so, but he’s much more handsome and much less odious.”
Beatrice shook her head with disgust. “Raven Shawcross owns diamond mines and possesses a fortune. He is a member of Sir Sidney’s team of explorers. If Lucas Shawcross has a penny in his purse, it’s because Raven Shawcross put it there.”
Millicent rolled her eyes in a way that made Beatrice yearn to reach across the table and slap her.
“You fixate on the silliest issues,” Millicent said, but Beatrice ignored her.
“He’ll meet you in the driveway at two o’clock. Wear your most fetching gown.”
“You’re not listening to me!” Millicent protested. “I don’t want to flirt with him, and I can’t bear to get to know him. For some reason, he’s noticed me, and I wish he hadn’t!”
“You will obey me in this. I won’t argue about it.”
“There’s something dodgy about them. I ought not to speak with either one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I ran into Mr. Lucas Shawcross on the verandah last night, and he told me I shouldn’t pawn those earrings his brother gave me because they’re fake.”
“They wouldn’t be.”
“And he and his brother actually arrived a few days ago to deliver Clayton’s new horses. They were pretending to be horse dealers, and now, they’re ensconced in the manor and strutting about like a pair of lazy kings. Who behaves like that?”
Beatrice was taken aback. Rebecca had voiced the same concerns, and she’d claimed Mr. Melville and Shawcross had been school classmates when they were boys—and that his true surname was Stone.
The name Stone always sent a shiver down her spine, and ever since Rebecca had mentioned the prospect, she’d been pondering Harrison Stone. She’d never met him. Her husband, Charles, had worked for him, and the Stones had lived in London and Beatrice and Charles in Frinton.
Charles had been a trusted clerk at Harrison’s company of Stone Shipping. The offices had been located at the wharf in Frinton, where he’d overseen the loading and unloading of the ships.
Harrison had been married, and his wife was Blanche. They’d had some children, but for the life of her, Beatrice couldn’t recollect how many or what their names had been.
Charles had bankrupted Harrison Stone and had nearly bankrupted Lord Coxwold who’d been their biggest customer. Then, when his embezzlement had begun to unravel, he’d blamed it all on Harrison, but Charles had had a felonious heart, and he’d been prepared for that eventuality.
He’d skillfully covered his tracks, and he’d scooted away unscathed, painted as a hero in the newspapers and the law courts. Harrison had been sentenced to prison, a broken man who’d had no money left to hire a lawyer to defend himself.
Early on, Beatrice had occasionally felt guilty over what Charles had done to Harrison. But as the years had passed, and she’d stepped into Harrison’s affluent world, she’d gradually convinced herself that she deserved what Charles had stolen from the Stone family.
Could any of the Stone children have survived their ordeal?
She’d never considered the situation before, had never wondered about them. Surely, after their father had died in prison, their lives had been ruined too. There was no way one of them could have grown up to rub elbows with Sir Sidney or own African diamond mines. The notion was too preposterous to contemplate.
No, Raven Shawcross was not Raven Stone. Mr. Melville had to be mistaken.
“I have no idea why Mr. Shawcross initially stayed out in the barn,” she said. “Perhaps he likes animals, and he was happy there. His motives don’t matter to me.”
“Well, they matter to me,” Millicent snottily retorted. “I’d like to know what he’s about. Wouldn’t you?”
“I know what he’s about. For reasons I can’t fathom, he’s developed an interest in you, and he’s asked that you join him for a carriage ride at two. You will join him. If you refuse, I will drag you out to the driveway. Don’t make me. I’m certain you would hate to have me reveal what a spoiled brat you are.”
She could have eaten for another hour, but her insolent daughter had quashed her appetite. She tossed down her napkin, pushed back her chair, and stormed out.
* * * *
Preston bounced up the lane to Carter Crossing in his yellow gig. He wasn’t a sporty fellow, so he shouldn’t have purchased such a flashy conveyance. But he was anxious to show Millicent a more confident, fun-loving side to his character.
She was such a pretty, vivacious girl, and so far, he hadn’t presented himself as the type of spouse she’d be eager to have. She was still young, and he had no doubt—when she fantasized about a husband—he wasn’t anywhere near to being who she envisioned.
He’d be good for her though. He was kind, reliable, and very patient. He thought he’d be able to tolerate her quirks better than anyone else she might choose. Yet the possibility wouldn’t have occurred to her, and he could hardly mention it.
He pulled up in front of the manor, and he tied the reins and jumped down. It was such a high leap to the ground, and he always wished he appeared jaunty when he descended, but he probably didn’t. Two footmen came over to admire the vehicle, and he left them to it.
He planned every visit to Carter Crossing with enormous care, but he’d pretend he was stopping by on the spur of the moment. Whenever he attempted to arrange a specific activity with Millicent, she’d insist she was otherwise engaged, but if he arrived unannounced, he often caught her bored and at loose ends.
Hopefully, he’d catch her today too, and he’d coax her into taking a ride with him. If she couldn’t be enticed, Miss Rebecca might like to go instead. She was a grand girl, and he liked her very much. She was the nicest person in the house really, and it was too bad he’d never become attached to her.
She’d have been a perfect wife, but the heart was an inexplicable organ. He’d set his sights on Millicent, and he couldn’t be dissuaded from that goal.
As he marched up to the door, it opened, and Raven Shawcross exited. At Clayton’s party, Preston had viewed Shawcross from across the room, so he hadn’t gotten a close look at him. But he was getting a close look now.
“Mr. Shawcross?” he said. “Please forgive me for being presumptuous, but I believe we’ve met.”
Shawcross studied him, his precise gaze roaming down Preston’s torso in a rude manner. “I don’t think so.”
“I knew you at school—when we were nine. I’m Preston Melville. It’s been a long time, and you won’t remember me, but I definitely remember you.”
Shawcross smirked. “You have me confused with someone else.”
“I’m positive I don’t, and I’m not confused.” He forced a smile. “You were so popular, and you were smart and tough too. I always yearned to be just like you. I could have guessed you’d wind up as an African explorer. Your lofty career path is exactly what I would have expected from you.”
“I’m delighted you approve.”
Shawcross’s tone was sarcastic. It was obvious he was irked by Preston’s prattling, and with the exciting life Shawcross had led, Preston understood he would seem tedious, but he was terribly hurt by how Shawcross had been flirting with Millicent. If he was serious in his attentions, Preston wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I’m curious about one detail though.” Preston gulped, convinced he as about to ask a question that shouldn’t be asked. “When we were boys, your name was Raven Stone. I’m certain of it. Why are you claiming a different identity?”
They were almost toe to toe, so Preston could clearly observe Shawcross’s expression. He didn’t flinch, didn’t
glanced away. He simply said, “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”
Footsteps sounded in the foyer, and Millicent burst outside, her maid following behind. She looked pretty as a picture, wearing a white dress with blue piping on the bodice and skirt. A blue ribbon encircled her waist, emphasizing how small it was. A straw bonnet framed her blond curls.
She didn’t even see Preston and walked right by him.
“There you are!” She beamed at Shawcross. “I was so slow in getting ready, I was afraid you’d have departed without me.”
Preston spoke up. “Hello, Miss Carter.”
She peered at him and frowned. “Mr. Melville? What are you doing here?”
“I was…ah…in the neighborhood, and I thought you might like to go for a ride.”
“I’m sorry, but I have plans this afternoon.”
Shawcross offered his arm to her. She clasped hold, and they sauntered toward the stables. Preston watched them, and he was so forlorn it was pathetic.
A few minutes later, she and Shawcross promenaded by in a carriage, the two of them snuggled together on the front seat, her maid in the back as a chaperone. As they rounded the driveway, Miss Rebecca emerged from the manor and came over to him.
“Mr. Melville!” She appeared kind and happy as always. “This is a nice surprise. What brings you by?”
“I was hoping to socialize with Miss Carter, but it wasn’t convenient.”
Miss Rebecca stared at Millicent’s carriage that was being swallowed by the trees. She sighed, comprehending his despondency.
“Yes, Millicent is occupied, but how about me? I’m eager for that ride you promised.”
“Will you be dreadfully disappointed if I tell you I don’t feel like it just now? Could we do it another time?”
“Of course,” she gently agreed, and she laid a hand on his wrist. “I hate that you saw them leaving, but don’t despair. He has no genuine interest in her.”
“It seemed quite genuine to me.”
“You’re wrong. I talked to him about her, and he admitted that he’s playing some sort of game with all of us. And she’s so young; he’ll soon tire of her.”
