by Cheryl Holt
Shawcross sighed with irritation. “My brother will tire of her very soon, and he’s about to return to London. He’s bored, and he hates the country. Once he’s in town again, he’ll never give her a second thought.”
Preston nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. Now then, I have to address the main reason for my visit.”
“I know what it is, and I’m incredibly impressed that you’d dare. I wouldn’t have deemed you to have the courage to confront me.”
Preston huffed with offense. “It doesn’t require much courage to remind you that Miss Rebecca is a very fine young lady. Out of the whole Carter family, she’s probably the only one worth two farthings.”
“You’re correct,” Shawcross said.
“But you, Mr. Shawcross, are a rich, sophisticated, famous man. You’ve journeyed around the globe and immersed yourself in wild adventures. Your acquaintances are rich and famous too, so you travel in the highest social circles.”
“That’s me in a nutshell.”
“I didn’t mean to stumble on you with her, and I had no idea she was here.”
“She and I are very good friends.”
“Is that what she is? A friend?”
“Yes.”
“Will she ever become more than a friend?” Preston asked. “Might she become a fiancée?”
Shawcross glared at Preston, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. Finally, he said, “She’s a Carter, so I would never envision her being my fiancée.”
“Since you have no desire to marry her, you shouldn’t be loafing in bedchambers with her. You shouldn’t be kissing her in dark, isolated rooms, and you know it too. I’m asking you to leave her alone.”
“You have no connection to her. Why would I listen to you?”
“I think she’s extraordinary, and I think you agree. Will you deliberately hurt her? When you admire her so much, why would you treat her despicably? Will you destroy what little security she’s managed to obtain for herself? If you continue on with her, and Mrs. Carter discovers your antics, have you considered what will happen to her?”
Shawcross studied him forever, then said, “I appreciate your concern for her, but I never let anyone order me about, so no, I won’t leave her alone.”
“Would it help if I beg you?”
“No.”
He opened the door, and Preston’s shoulders drooped with defeat. For a moment, he dawdled, struggling to formulate a different tactic he could pursue that might garner the guarantees he needed to protect her.
But Shawcross appeared resolute, and really, what authority had Preston in the situation? He wasn’t her father or brother. He was a worried neighbor and that was it. He’d tried his best. What more could he do?
His other option was to approach Beatrice Carter, which he would never contemplate. She didn’t have the temperament to handle the news in a sane way.
So…he would watch and fret—about both Rebecca and Millicent. He’d develop a plan of action, for he couldn’t stand idly by while they were ruined by cads.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Preston said. “I’d tell you it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t been, Mr. Stone.”
Then he stomped out without another word.
* * * *
Alex walked across the garden, taking a circuitous route down the winding paths so he wouldn’t be observed from the manor. It chafed at him to have to hide from their guests, but Rebecca had asked him to keep out of sight, and he would never deliberately upset her. Nor would he intentionally cause a conflict with Mrs. Carter or his father.
He should have been toiling away in the stables, which was his purported job, but he couldn’t make himself care about his father’s horses. The Carter family had never exhibited any interest in him, and he’d learned from their behavior. He didn’t exhibit any interest in return.
He’d been on edge and restless, so he’d climbed the promontory to watch for ships, and he’d spotted two. They’d been big schooners operating with full sails, their bows cutting through the water like glass. He’d yearned to be on one of them so desperately that he could almost taste the freedom it would bring.
Though he’d skulked in the shadows for days, he hadn’t seen Mr. Shawcross again, and he was anxious for a second conversation. He’d like to probe further into how a boy such as himself—with no sponsors or funds to get started—could join an expedition to a wild locale. Mr. Shawcross was the odd type of adult who would listen and offer sound advice.
Rebecca was up on the verandah, and he waved and went over to her—even though he should have continued on to the servant’s door. She leaned on the balustrade and stared down to where he was loitering in the grass. If Carter Crossing had been a normal home and his relatives normal kin, he’d have marched up to her, but he was pushing his luck by being so close to the house.
If Mrs. Carter or Clayton stepped outside and saw him, there would be hell to pay. Not for himself—they ignored him—but Rebecca would be blamed and punished, and he couldn’t bear for her to be in trouble.
“You scamp!” she said from up above him. “Why aren’t you at work?”
He shrugged. “I was bored.”
“Should I penalize you by dragging you upstairs and forcing you to do your school lessons?”
“On such a beautiful afternoon, that would amount to child torture.”
She snorted at that. “Where have you been?”
“Up on the promontory.”
“Were there any ships passing by?”
“A pair of three-masted schooners. And guess what else?”
“What?”
“People are moving into the old Oakley place. There are wagons of lumber parked in the driveway, and carpenters were carrying in their tools.”
“Raven Shawcross purchased it.”
The news was indescribably thrilling, and Alex beamed with delight. “Is he staying in the neighborhood?”
“It seems that he is.” She leaned out a little farther and murmured, “We need to chat about an important issue. There’s been some drama occurring among the grownups.”
“With Mrs. Carter, wasn’t it?” She was his grandmother, but he would never dare call her that. “Rumor has it that there was a situation at Carter Imports.”
“Yes, and it involves Mr. Shawcross. The mess he’s stirring might affect us. You and I should have a frank discussion about our options.”
“Will we be swept up in it? Why would we be?”
“Let’s not talk about it here. How about if you meet me in your room in a few minutes? We should probably make some contingency plans for ourselves—in case we’re caught in the dilemma.”
The comment was alarming, and he scowled. “What might happen?”
Suddenly, from behind her, his father bellowed, “Rebecca! Why are you dawdling? I told you to fetch me some whiskey! The decanters in the parlor are empty. Will I have to flog the servants to get them to do their jobs? What good are you as a supervisor if you can’t accomplish such a minimal task?”
Rebecca sighed and furtively motioned for Alex to sneak off, but he was torn over how to proceed.
After the night he’d stumbled on Clayton harassing her in that dark hall, he’d been worried about her, and he hated to abandon her. He delayed a moment too long, debating the best choice, when his father loomed up next to her.
“Why are you loafing?” he inquired. “Who is distracting you from your duties?”
“I’m sorry you’re irked,” she claimed. “I’m coming in right now to assist you.”
She turned away, and Alex was frozen in his spot, praying Clayton wouldn’t glance down, but he’d learned at an early age that his prayers were never answered.
Clayton pointed a condemning finger at Alex. “Why is that boy standing at the foot of my verandah?”
“He’s just leaving, Clayton. Calm down or your guests will hear you raging.”
“I asked you a question!” When Cla
yton was angry, he couldn’t moderate his volume, and it was definitely rising. “I have enough problems today without that boy traipsing around.”
“No one will see him, and if they do, they won’t wonder about him. It’s not strange to find a child in the garden. It’s silly to fret.”
Rebecca was generally able to manipulate his father, but evidently, Clayton was in a worse mood than usual.
“He is your responsibility! If you can’t manage him, I’ll be happy to have someone else take charge. Perhaps—if I sent him to military school—he’d be taught to obey the rules.”
“You’re being a beast,” she placidly said, “and you’re aware that I will not let you shout at me. Locate me when your irritation has abated. We’ll chat then.”
She tried to walk off, but he grabbed her arm—as he had that night in the hall. Alex bristled with affront and leapt to rush up and pull him away, but before he could, Mr. Shawcross appeared like an avenging angel.
Clayton didn’t notice the man’s swift approach. Mr. Shawcross seized him by his coat, and with one hand, lifted him and flung him away from her. Clayton fell onto a table, the flimsy piece of furniture crumbling under his weight, and it crashed to the stone patio. He tumbled down with it and landed with a painful thump.
Mr. Shawcross wasn’t even breathing hard, and Alex studied his posture and demeanor, deciding he would practice them in the mirror. He wanted to grow up to project that very same bearing.
“Are you deaf, Clayton?” Mr. Shawcross kicked Clayton in the ribs. “Or are you just stupid? I could have sworn I told you to never touch her.”
“Bastard!” Clayton unwisely muttered.
“Don’t insult my mother! I have it on very good authority that my parents were married.” He kicked Clayton again, then he peered over at Rebecca and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. He’s drunk, which is his normal state anymore. You didn’t have to over-react.”
“Trust me,” Mr. Shawcross retorted, “this is not me over-reacting. This is me controlling my temper. Go in the house.”
“Don’t boss me, Mr. Shawcross. You can’t.”
“Go in the house, please?” he snidely said. “Is that better?”
She frowned from him to Clayton, then back to him again. “What are you contemplating? If it’s violence, I absolutely forbid it.”
“I’m not contemplating violence. Clayton and I need to have a long conversation, and this is the perfect time.”
“I demand to listen in!”
Rebecca was furious, and she looked amazing. Her feet were braced, her hands on her hips, as if she was ready to engage in fisticuffs with the much larger, imperious man.
“No, you can’t listen,” Mr. Shawcross said.
“I won’t let you browbeat him,” she insisted. “He’s too inebriated to defend himself.”
“Why was he scolding you? I could hear him yelling clear across the manor.”
“He was livid about nothing. It’s his regular condition when he’s home.”
She peeked into the garden, checking to discover whether Alex had tiptoed away. Mr. Shawcross followed her gaze and saw him. Since he was standing in plain sight, he would have been difficult to miss.
Mr. Shawcross smirked. “Hello, Alex.”
“Hello, sir.”
“It seems Clayton isn’t overly fond of you.”
“I’m sorry to have caused this upset,” he replied, “and I should have crept off before he noticed me, but I couldn’t leave her alone with him. Where she’s concerned, he can be quite vicious.”
“I know that about him,” Mr. Shawcross responded, “and I appreciate your willingness to intervene. But why don’t you run along? I’ll take care of this, and she’ll be safe from now on. I promise you that.”
“Thank you.”
Alex yearned to linger, to watch what would happen next, but he’d been dismissed, and he would never disobey such a dashing, heroic fellow.
He raced toward the servant’s door, where he should have headed in the first place. It would have avoided so much trouble, but the damage was done, and it was too late to change the ending.
He glanced back for a final glimpse of the riveting scene. Rebecca stomped into the house, appearing annoyed at Mr. Shawcross for his ordering her about. His father was still hovered at Mr. Shawcross’s feet.
Mr. Shawcross waited until Rebecca was inside, then he grabbed Clayton and raised him up. Clayton was swaying and off balance, and he uttered an idiotic remark that Alex couldn’t hear, but whatever the comment, Mr. Shawcross punched him as hard as he could.
Clayton crashed into another table, and he plunged onto the stones and curled into a ball. He was gripping his nose, blood pouring from it as he wailed with dismay.
Mr. Shawcross lifted him yet again and dragged him off.
Alex dawdled for a few minutes, wondering if any of them would re-emerge, but no one did. He smiled, being delighted with how his father had been bested. If he asked Mr. Shawcross, would the tough brawler teach him to fight? It seemed like an important skill for a boy to learn.
He whipped away and went into the manor to climb to his bedroom. Rebecca had mentioned there were problems brewing, and they had to discuss their options. He hoped she remembered that they needed to talk, for if she didn’t, he couldn’t go down to find her.
With the mischief he’d stirred by merely strolling in the park, he wasn’t in any position to be out and about, and he definitely shouldn’t be observed precisely where he shouldn’t be.
* * * *
“You broke my nose!”
“Good.”
They were in Clayton’s library, and Shawcross tossed him into a chair, then sauntered around the desk and sat behind it as if it was his own. The man had the gall to fill ten castles.
After Clayton had been pummeled, Shawcross had hauled him through the front parlor and foyer, marching him past guests and servants alike. Although he’d been bruised and battered, none of them had been brave enough to intervene. They’d simply gaped at Clayton as if he was an ill-behaved mutt that had made a mess on the rug.
As they’d passed a footman in the hall, Clayton had wheezed, “Get my mother, would you? Have her attend me at once.”
The footman had gawked as if he didn’t comprehend English, and Shawcross had whacked Clayton on the head and spitefully reported, “Your mother can’t save you from this quagmire. Don’t expect her to ride to your rescue.”
Gossip about the incident would travel far and wide. At that very moment, people would be packing their bags so they could hurry to London and spread the news of Clayton’s disgrace. How would he show his face in town ever again?
“Your audacity is astounding, Shawcross,” he spat. “How dare you attack me! How dare you embarrass me like this!”
“How dare I?”
Shawcross scoffed in a way that sent a shiver down Clayton’s spine.
“Look at me!” Clayton waved a trembling hand over his person. “Look at my condition! You’re a dangerous lunatic, and I categorically state that you must vacate the premises.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“You’ve exceeded the bounds of what I should have to tolerate. You have inflicted yourself on my mother, and you have assaulted me. Not once, but twice!”
“I enjoyed it too.”
“Go! Depart immediately!”
“One of us is going,” Shawcross said, “but it’s not me.”
“Were you reared by wolves in the forest? What is wrong with you? I invited you here and this is how you act?”
Shawcross ignored Clayton’s complaints and said, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“The only business that interests me is your announcement that you’re leaving. Honestly, Shawcross! How can I force you out? Must I throw you out bodily?”
“As if you could.” Shawcross chuckled crudely, then he picked up a stack of documen
ts and flourished them at Clayton. “These will explain what’s occurred.”
“And what is that?”
“I’ve already clarified the situation about Carter Imports with your mother. Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes, and she spewed nonsense about your owning it now. I repeat, Shawcross: You are a lunatic, and you will never glom onto my property.”
“Shut your mouth for a minute and listen to me. Listen carefully.”
There were a thousand caustic remarks Clayton yearned to hurl, but he bit them down and asked, “What is it you feel so determined to tell me?”
“You’re addicted to wagering, and you’re really, really bad at it. You’re in debt everywhere, and the payments on your numerous mortgages were overdue. I purchased them from your creditors.”
Beatrice had told him much the same story, but he couldn’t fathom it. He shook his head. “That can’t be right. You can’t simply butt into my life and seize what belongs to me.”
“You ought to read your mail once in awhile. You were being sued constantly, and you never responded to any legal notices. Nor did you attend any court hearings. Weeks ago, you were adjudged a scofflaw, and it gave me the perfect opportunity to swoop in and ruin you.”
“Meaning what?” he snidely inquired.
“Meaning Carter Imports is mine, and Carter Crossing is mine now too.”
Clayton glared at him, certain he’d misunderstood. Beatrice had insisted Shawcross had stolen their company, but he’d stolen their home too? It was too improbable to be believed, so he wouldn’t believe it.
“I’m sure you’re jesting,” he said, “but I have no idea why you would. It’s cruel to spread these kinds of lies. You have my poor mother in an absolute dither.”
“Your poor mother?” Shawcross snorted with disgust, then sarcastically added, “Yes, the prospect of her being upset is truly worrying me.”
“How can I fix this?”
Shawcross scowled as if it was the strangest question ever posed. “You can’t fix it. The business is mine, and with how revenue has fallen recently, there’s no reason to continue it as a viable entity. I’ve closed it down.”
