by Cheryl Holt
“You’re such an optimist, Miss Rebecca, but in this situation, it might be misplaced.”
“You’re exactly the fellow she needs, Mr. Melville. I refuse to let you give up.”
“I pressed Mr. Shawcross about his surname. I accused him of being Raven Stone, but he insisted he’s not.”
“I mentioned that he’s toying with us,” she said. “I’m sure of it. He’s toying with Millicent too, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.”
“His father was Harrison Stone. I’d suggest you ask your Cousin Beatrice about his connection to her late husband, Charles, but you shouldn’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because she’d likely kill the messenger.” He couldn’t bear to tarry, and he tipped his hat to her. “I’ll bid you good day, Miss Rebecca. It was marvelous to see you.”
“You too, Mr. Melville. Don’t you dare go home and sulk.”
“I won’t,” he lied.
“You must come back tomorrow and try again with Millicent. I’m positive she won’t be busy.”
He glared down the lane where Millicent had finally vanished with handsome, dashing Mr. Shawcross/Stone. “I don’t know if I’ll come tomorrow. I just don’t know.”
He trudged to his vehicle, climbed up, and left. He could have called to the horse and had it start to run, but he went as slow as possible, not keen to overtake Millicent. He wasn’t certain what direction she’d traveled after she’d turned onto the main road, but he was too miserable to have to witness her smiling at Raven Shawcross ever again.
* * * *
“Are you Mr. Shawcross?”
Raven halted and spun around to find a boy of ten or so standing in the shadows by the barn. With his black hair and blue eyes, his slim physique and lanky frame, he reminded Raven of how Lucas had looked when they’d last spoken before he’d headed off to Africa. His brother had never been the same after that.
He’d just finished his tedious ride with Millicent Carter. Their fraternization had forced him to realize that he couldn’t abide her, and it was stupid to drag her into his scheme. She was immature and exhausting, and he didn’t have to trifle with her to accomplish his goals with regard to Beatrice and Clayton.
His actions toward Millicent had been for mere spite, and he had bigger fish to fry.
He could have handed her off to Lucas and let him break her heart, but that would have been a recipe for disaster. Raven had already warned him to stay away from her, and Lucas swore he would.
When Raven had confronted him about his sneaking off to the beach for a tryst, he’d claimed it had been with a housemaid, but Raven couldn’t decide if he believed Lucas or not. Lucas was the best liar in the world, and if Raven learned his target had been Millicent after all, he’d have to beat his brother to a pulp. It was the only type of explanation that ever sank in.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Shawcross,” he said. “May I help you?”
“I don’t mean to bother you, but I’d like to ask you a question—if you might have a minute to answer it.”
“Ask away. I’ll answer if I can, but first, it’s obvious you’ve learned my name, so I should probably know yours.”
“It’s Alex. Alex Carter.”
So this was Rebecca’s cousin, the one of whom she was so fond.
“You don’t look like a Carter.” They were all blond-haired and blue-eyed. From his black hair alone, he couldn’t have much Carter blood in his veins. “How are you related to Clayton and Mrs. Carter?”
The boy hesitated, then said, “They’re…ah…cousins.”
“What’s your question, Mr. Alex Carter?”
“I’m aware that Sir Sidney is deceased.”
Raven should have guessed the topic would be Sir Sidney. Everyone inquired about him. He’d been a national icon, and people couldn’t stop obsessing over him. Children included.
“Yes, he’s passed on,” Raven said.
“I was wondering if his son, Sebastian, might be planning another expedition to Africa.”
“I doubt it, Alex. He was traumatized by his father’s death.”
“How about you? Might you schedule your own expedition?”
“I have no intention of returning either. I was traumatized too.”
“Do you think any explorers will go again? Or do you imagine the British missions are finished?”
“There are other men there now,” Raven said. “We’ll never abandon the Dark Continent. There’s too much to discover that’s fascinating.”
“Then this is what’s vexing me: I’d like to join an expedition someday, and I’ve read Sebastian Sinclair’s books about it, but he never mentions how much it costs.”
“It’s an enormous amount,” Raven told him.
“How did you earn your initial stake? Did your father pay it for you? How did you manage?”
Raven had gambled and cheated at cards. He had a precise memory for numbers, and apparently deep down, he possessed much of Lucas’s dubious character. He had a real knack for deception and fraud, and he’d figured out all sorts of ways to dupe acquaintances who shouldn’t have been wagering with him in the first place.
He never gambled anymore. He didn’t need the money, but also, he still regretted how he’d tricked all those ignoramuses. As penance, he never played cards.
He didn’t suppose he ought to chat about nefarious activities with a child though. Nor should he talk about how he’d cheated to accumulate the necessary sum.
“I had a trust fund,” he lied.
Alex nodded. “I was afraid it would be something like that.”
“Is it hard for you to live here?”
“Yes. Occasionally, I feel as if—should I never escape Carter Crossing—I’ll simply grow mad with longing. I spend all my time on the promontory, staring out at the ships sailing by. I always ponder where they’re headed and wish I could be on one of them.”
“You have a bad case of wanderlust, which I completely understand.”
Alex sighed. “Sebastian Sinclair and his great friend, Lord Selby, started their treks to Africa when they were my age. Are there any other exploration teams that would take a boy like me? If I could find the money, that is.”
He was so solemn in his query, and Raven smiled, trying to remember if he’d ever been that young, that innocent. He hoped Alex never suffered a dire moment in his life. He hoped it would be all sunshine and roses for him, but as a Carter, there was no chance for that optimistic ending.
“You’re stuck with your Carter kin,” Raven said, “so it must be difficult to envision a future.”
“It is.”
“In my opinion, a man can achieve whatever goal he sets his mind to, so I’m sure you’ll eventually devise a way to get to Africa.”
“I’ll tell myself you’re correct.”
Raven liked Alex very much and worried about what would become of him when the older Carters faced Raven’s wrath. Fleetingly, he considered sending him away to school or maybe buying him a commission in the army in a few years.
A friend of Raven’s father had helped him when his own world had fallen apart. Should Raven do the same? No! As with Rebecca, it didn’t matter how much he liked Alex. The boy was a Carter, so Raven wouldn’t let a flicker of sympathy flare.
He couldn’t predict what might have happened, what he might have offered—or not—but Alex glanced out into the park. He frowned, so Raven glanced out too.
Rebecca was walking toward the beach for an afternoon stroll. Clayton was in the park too, with some of his male guests. They’d already been drinking and were being obnoxiously rowdy and rude. With Rebecca coming around the side of the house, she hadn’t observed them yet.
“Would you excuse me, Mr. Shawcross?” Alex said. “I see my cousin, Rebecca, and I have to speak with her.”
“Certainly, young Mr. Alex, and if any other questions occur to you, feel free to accost me again.”
“I will, and t
hank you for bothering with me.”
“It was no bother.”
Alex hurried off, and Raven watched as, shortly, he caught up with Rebecca and deftly steered her away from Clayton. He continued to watch as Alex escorted her out to the beach. They appeared affectionately close, with Alex determined to protect her from Clayton.
Raven liked that type of behavior, and he was impressed that Alex would exhibit it. He was a bit jealous too that the boy was alone with Rebecca. Raven wanted to join them so desperately that he could practically taste it, but that was insane thinking.
He whipped away and went to the manor where he would lock himself in his fancy bedchamber and review his plans. It was time to make several moves that no one was going to like—except him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rebecca was on the promontory up above Carter Crossing and staring out at the water. She’d been particularly claustrophobic and had had to get out of the manor, so she’d climbed up the hill.
Ever since Mr. Shawcross had arrived, she’d been feeling trapped and unhappy. For reasons she couldn’t clarify, he was making her question her circumstances. She was a viscount’s daughter and an earl’s sister, but throughout her life, she’d been denigrated and maligned.
Why had she put up with so much vilification? Why had she been content to settle for so little?
Her parents were a forbidden subject at Carter Crossing, but she found herself constantly pondering them. She always avoided the subject simply because Beatrice never uttered a positive comment about them.
When she’d been small, Beatrice had claimed they’d given her away because she’d been naughty and expensive to raise. As she’d grown older and had ceased to believe she’d been abandoned by them, Beatrice would harangue about how—when they’d died—Rebecca’s lofty Blake relatives had been ready to send her to an orphanage, but Beatrice had saved her from that fate.
Rebecca didn’t think any of Beatrice’s stories about her parents were true. She had a few memories from her earliest years. Her mother had been beautiful and kind, her father handsome and dashing. Her brother, Nathan, had been brave and fearless, and she suspected she might have lived with him once.
Might he recall that he had a sister? If so, did he ever wonder what had happened to her? If she contacted him, how might he react?
Recently, she’d been desperately anxious to correspond with him, but he was Lord Selby now, and no man liked to be apprised that his father had been a libertine. If he didn’t recall Rebecca being his half-sister, she didn’t suppose he’d be pleased by the information.
Suddenly, an odd sensation swept into her mind. It was a peculiar thing that occurred occasionally. She had a guardian angel who watched over her and who appeared in her dreams. The angel spoke to Rebecca in her head too, and it seemed as if she was reaching in with her fingers and massaging Rebecca’s thoughts.
Are you there? her angel asked.
Yes, I’m here, Rebecca answered.
I’m searching for you. Where are you?
Come to me while I’m sleeping.
The sweetest perception of safety washed over her, and it would persist for hours. It was such an interesting phenomenon, and whenever it transpired, she wished she could capture it in a bottle so the experience would last longer.
She pulled away from the water, but she couldn’t bear to return to the manor just yet. She went over to the other side of the promontory to gaze at the Oakley mansion. It was such a pretty residence and too lovely to have fallen into disrepair.
As she glanced down, she was stunned to see the front doors were open. There were wagons in the driveway, and they were filled with lumber, tools, and other supplies, as if construction work was about to begin.
Had the property been sold? Was someone fixing it up with the intent to move in?
She’d be delighted to have the neglected place refurbished, but she was sad too. She’d always frivolously hoped it might be hers someday. The notion was a complete fantasy, but she clung to it anyway.
She walked down the trail to the house, not sure who she’d encounter, but she displayed her best smile. If the new owner was present, she’d be the first to welcome him.
The foyer was empty, and she called, “Hello? Is anyone home?”
When Raven Shawcross emerged from the shadows, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.
“Hello, Rebecca. I didn’t expect you to stumble in.”
She didn’t bother to scold him for using her Christian name. He never listened, so what would be the point?
Since he’d taken his carriage ride with Millicent, she hadn’t seen him, and she was relieved she hadn’t. Even though he’d insisted he wasn’t serious about Millicent, she couldn’t help but be hurt by his behavior.
She was jealous of Millicent and brimming with envy. In a weird way, she’d started to view him as her own. She’d started to view herself as being special to him, but she should have realized how ridiculous the prospect was.
“The door was open,” she told him, “and I assumed there might be a new neighbor I’d like to meet. I guess I was wrong.”
She spun to leave, and he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are not. Don’t tell lies. It’s so annoying.”
She kept on, and he snapped, “Rebecca!”
His tone was exasperated, as if no one ever ignored him and he couldn’t deal with her disobedience.
Don’t stop! she chided. Don’t turn around!
She turned around. “What?”
“I just arrived myself. How about if you snoop through the rooms with me?”
“I’d rather not.”
He sauntered over, approaching until they were toe to toe. He studied her expression and said, “Why are you so angry?”
“I’d have to care about you to be angry.”
He chuckled. “You are so funny. You always entertain me, which is no small feat.”
“How was your carriage ride with my cousin?”
She shouldn’t have inquired. If she’d been a bigger person, she’d have pretended she wasn’t peeved, but the words slipped out before she could swallow them down.
“You’re jealous.” He scoffed. “I told you not to be.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m aggravated. It’s clear you’re courting my cousin, and with that as your ploy, you have no business flirting with me.”
“I like flirting with you.”
“Her erstwhile beau, Mr. Melville, was at Carter Crossing when you traipsed off with her. He was devastated.”
“I’m finished with her, so he can have her back.”
“How magnanimous you are!”
Her comment was very sarcastic, but she couldn’t be more polite. Every paltry detail of her life—including him—was irritating her.
“She’s too young for me,” he said.
“You just noticed?”
“Well, I suspected it from the outset, but I didn’t think the age difference would matter so much.”
“And now?” she snidely asked.
“Now I’d throw myself off a cliff before I’d spend another afternoon with her.”
She bristled. “I should be insulted on Millicent’s behalf, but I’m actually relieved. I was certain there could be no benefit for her to have an association with you.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you suppose there could be a benefit for you to have an association with me?”
“No. I believe I’ve previously indicated—if you get me in trouble—you’d never be worth it.”
“I might surprise you.”
“You haven’t so far,” she churlishly responded.
He laughed, and—as if they were adolescent sweethearts—he linked their fingers and started for the stairs.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I haven’t been up to the bedchambers yet. Or to the servants’ rooms in the attic. Look through them w
ith me.”
“Why are you in here? You appear to have a key. Have you bought it?”
“Yes, I bought it.” He hesitated, then admitted, “It used to belong to my family. We’d visit occasionally when I was a boy.”
She tripped, and he reached out to steady her. Mr. Melville’s warning, about his being Raven Stone, rushed back.
“Your family owned this house?”
“Yes, my father.”
“When we met that day up on the promontory, we talked about this property. You never mentioned your connection to it.”
He shrugged. “I don’t generally discuss my past.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” Then he said, “We had a shipping company on the coast.”
“Did you grow up in the Frinton area?”
“No, London. My father was out here quite a bit though.”
She tried to remember if she’d known his father, but if they’d crossed paths, she couldn’t recall.
“Are your parents still alive?” she asked.
“They’ve been deceased for twenty years.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty.”
“They died when you were ten.”
“Yes.”
“After you were orphaned, what became of you?”
“I traveled an interesting road,” was all he would say about it. “Quit pestering me with questions and come upstairs. Let’s see what sort of mess I have to clean up.”
“Are you planning to restore the place? Will you live in it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe not. It depends on how things shake out the next few weeks.”
“What things?”
“Since my parents passed away, I’ve never really belonged anywhere. I can’t decide if I’m ready to put down roots, and if I am, whether this should be the spot. I might simply tear down the house so nature can reclaim it.”
Her jaw dropped. “Don’t you dare tear down this house! If you don’t want it, give it to me. I’ll cherish it forever—as you apparently don’t.”
“Come,” he said again, and she relented and accompanied him.
A grand staircase ascended to a landing with a balustrade that looked down on the foyer, and she enjoyed a quick vision of children peeking through the railing as fancy guests arrived. It was a happy image that galvanized her affection for the decrepit building, and she wouldn’t permit him to raze it.
