by Cheryl Holt
What was best? What was worst? How was a fellow supposed to know?
He decided to show up in his usual cordial condition. The party was still in progress, so men would be chatting in the parlors. He’d join in the socializing, and he would let circumstances push him to his next move.
* * * *
Beatrice tiptoed down the stairs to the grand foyer. There was a general sense of abandonment in the air, as if the manor had been empty for months.
Clayton and his acquaintances had decamped for London shortly after breakfast. Her disloyal son had trotted off, so she’d have to tackle the pending calamity with Raven Shawcross by herself, and she viewed it as typical.
Men were worthless in a crisis, but the men of the Carter family were particularly useless. She’d ordered Clayton to hire a lawyer and commence legal proceedings against Shawcross, but she couldn’t count on him to follow through.
She could only count on herself, and if their ship was about to sink, she would save herself. Clayton would have to hope he sobered up long enough to swim to shore before he was dragged under the waves.
The house was quiet, the servants tiptoeing too, as if everyone was bracing for catastrophe. They were wise to be alarmed.
How could she not have realized who Raven Shawcross was? Right from the start, she should have guessed. She’d been trying to recollect if she’d ever been told Lydia’s surname. If she had been, she couldn’t remember.
A decade earlier, when that sanctimonious vicar had arrived with Lydia’s bastard in tow, Beatrice had been so stunned that she hadn’t focused on the details. Now Lydia was wreaking havoc from the grave as her vengeful older brother ruined them all.
A footman was hovering by the door, and she asked, “Is that visitor gone?”
“Yes, Mrs. Carter, but he left a letter for you. He said it was very important and that you should read it immediately.”
She’d been hiding in her room for several days, and during the interval, a stranger had stopped by on three different occasions and had begged to speak with her. He’d claimed they had to discuss a vital subject, but she’d refused to confer with him.
She’d presumed it would be more legal papers from Shawcross or perhaps a demand notice from the fired workers at Carter Imports, insisting she fork over their last wages. Well, they could parlay with their precious Raven Shawcross if they wished to be paid.
The footman handed over the missive, and she ripped it open, seeing that it was actually two letters folded together. The outside one was a note from her visitor, explaining his purpose. The inside one had gold trim on the edges and a fancy wax seal on the back. It was addressed to Rebecca, which was too odd to be believed.
Mrs. Carter, the stranger had written, I have approached you on behalf of Nathan Blake, Lord Selby. After significant investigation, he has learned that his sister, Rebecca Blake Carter, has been living in your home these past twenty-four years. He is interested in meeting her, and he intends to call on you at your earliest convenience…
She quickly moved on to the second letter.
So! The exalted ass, Lord Selby, had finally deigned to worry about his dear sister. It had only taken him twenty-four years to get around to it! He wanted to travel to Carter Crossing to meet Rebecca! He wanted to introduce her to her twin, Sarah, the sickly child who’d been so ill that Beatrice had declined to bring her to Carter Crossing.
How had the feeble waif survived?
Lord Selby planned to waltz in like a magnanimous king and, if Rebecca was amenable, whisk her away to a life of splendor at Selby where she would be spoiled like a princess. The entire notion was so galling that Beatrice was surprised she didn’t faint.
Her temper spiked. She hated rich people and always had. She’d come from meager circumstances herself, so when her husband, Charles, had begun to commit his embezzlement, she’d been delighted to help him steal as much as he could. Her loathing definitely extended to Rebecca’s wealthy Blake relatives.
Beatrice had never forgotten how she’d been summoned to London by Rebecca’s snooty, pretentious Blake aunt. The shrew had commanded Beatrice to assume custody of Rebecca, and Beatrice hadn’t been able to stand up to her.
She’d corresponded with the witch numerous times to request financial support to defray the cost of raising Rebecca, but the annoying harpy wouldn’t chip in. Ultimately, her lawyer had sent a cease-and-desist letter, warning Beatrice to quit nagging, so Beatrice had relented.
But suddenly, she was raging. If Mr. Shawcross had his way, she would lose everything. She didn’t know if she’d be allowed to keep the clothes on her back, and she was certain her children would provide no assistance. They were lazy and foolish—Clayton especially—so Beatrice was gravely imperiled, and she had no allies.
The prospect that Rebecca might skate through it all, that her Blake kin might swoop in and rescue her just as Beatrice’s world was collapsing, was too infuriating to abide.
She would have tossed the letter in the fire, but the front knocker was banged, and Preston Melville marched in. In her current mood, the irritating dolt was the last person she could tolerate.
“Mrs. Carter!” The cordial idiot smiled as if they were chums. “I’m glad to find you up and about. On my prior visit, I heard you were indisposed. I hope you’re feeling better.”
She wasn’t about to engage in chitchat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Melville?”
He glanced into the receiving parlor, and it was empty. “The manor is awfully quiet. Where is everyone?”
“Clayton and his friends have returned to London.”
“That’s too bad. I was enjoying his guests. It’s so rare that we have company. A new face is always welcome.”
“What do you want, Mr. Melville?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a brisk autumn afternoon, and I thought I’d ask Miss Millicent to go for a ride. Might she be available? Or if she can’t, how about Miss Rebecca?”
Beatrice peered over at the footman. “Have you seen them recently?”
“No, ma’am. Not either of them. Not all day.”
“Sorry, Mr. Melville, but I have no idea where they are, and I’m not about to search for them. As you’ve discovered”—she gestured to the deserted parlor—“we’ve finished entertaining, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” He frowned, dithered, straightened his coat, but didn’t depart. “I realize you’re busy, Mrs. Carter, but might we have a private conversation?”
“No.” She nodded to the footman. “Show him out.”
Melville was undeterred. “Please, ma’am? It’s urgent.”
She sighed with frustration. “I’ll give you five minutes, and I suggest you use them wisely. Don’t blather on and on. With how irked I am, I can’t humor you.”
She spun and stomped into the receiving parlor, and he followed her and closed the door.
“What is it?” she asked. “And for pity’s sake, be brief.”
“Before I start, I need to inform you that I’m speaking up out of affection for your family. I’ve been fretting over whether I should mention this issue, and I can’t continue to be silent.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a veritable saint, aren’t you?”
He dithered again, then wrung his hands. “I’m worried about your daughter and Miss Rebecca.”
“Why?”
“They’re spending too much time with the Shawcross brothers.”
“Why would you think that? Millicent had a short carriage ride with the older one, and according to my son, he didn’t like her enough to ever invite her again.”
“She’s been sneaking off with the younger one, with Lucas Shawcross.”
Beatrice scoffed. “When would she have managed it that I wouldn’t have observed her?”
“She’s been waiting in the evenings until you went to bed, then she’d meet him in the garden.”
“You’re insane, Melville. I recognize that you
’re sweet on her, and I’m sure Lucas Shawcross has stirred your jealousy. But it’s dreadful of you to spread gossip about Millicent merely because we’ve had a handsome rascal in the house.”
Melville squared his shoulders. “I just saw Lucas Shawcross out on the road. He appeared to be headed to London, and I’m positive Millicent was with him.”
“Well, I am positive she isn’t. I am certain she’s upstairs in her bedchamber. Will that be all?”
“No. I’m concerned about Miss Rebecca too. You’re not inclined to believe me, but I’ll spit it out anyway. If something terrible happens to her, and I don’t warn you, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“What’s she done—and I must confess that I can’t picture any misconduct. She’s such a timid mouse. She doesn’t have the courage to misbehave.”
“Are you aware that Raven Shawcross has purchased the Oakley estate?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“It was a surprise to me too, but the other day, I was driving by in my gig. The door was open, and there were wagons filled with lumber in the yard, so I stopped and walked inside.”
He paused and gulped with dismay, and she said, “And…?”
“Miss Rebecca was there alone with him—in his bedroom suite.”
Beatrice gasped. “In his bed?”
“No, no, they were just kissing—and it didn’t look like their first embrace either.”
“My, my.” She studied him and said, “Swear to me that you really saw this.”
“I swear, Mrs. Carter. I didn’t approach you immediately because I wasn’t clear on my role, but he’s such a sophisticated fellow, and he can’t have any honorable intentions toward her.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“She’s too trusting and wouldn’t be able to ward off the charms of such a cad.”
“You are a master of understatement, Mr. Melville.”
“I hope you’ll devise a good solution to this dilemma. She’ll be dreaming of a future with him, but it won’t be what he’s thinking about at all. I’m convinced his motives are quite a bit more prurient than that.”
“I heartily agree with you.”
“I should also mention that his name isn’t Raven Shawcross. I knew him as a boy, and his father was Harrison Stone. I won’t say anymore about it, except that—with his arriving in such a furtive manner—he shouldn’t be flirting with Miss Rebecca.”
“I concur, Mr. Melville, and thank you for coming. I figured you would simply annoy me with ridiculous information. For once, I’m glad we talked.”
“I’m sorry it’s over such a depressing topic.”
“I didn’t find it depressing in the slightest. I found it to be extremely fascinating.”
She went to the door and whipped it open, but he didn’t budge.
“You won’t punish her, will you?” he asked. “I apprised you with the expectation that you would handle this in a suitable fashion. I’ll be so disappointed if I’ve created a huge problem for her.”
“I’ll deal with it in my own way, Melville. Don’t you worry.”
He sighed. “I realize you assume I’m fibbing about Millicent, but will you please check her bedchamber? I pray I’m wrong and that she is not headed to London with Lucas Shawcross—but I’m very afraid that she might be.”
He tipped his hat, clicked his heels, and marched out.
She watched him until he’d exited the house, then her fury spiked to such a high level that she was amazed she didn’t burst into flames.
Rebecca and Raven Shawcross? Seriously?
As the fiend was seizing their company and home, as he was preparing to take every item that had ever belonged to them, Rebecca was playing the whore for him!
Oh, Melville had claimed he’d only seen them kissing, but Beatrice had no doubt about Rebecca’s true tendencies. Her mother had been a foolish slattern who’d succumbed to a nobleman’s wily seduction, and Beatrice had warned Rebecca over and over that she likely possessed some of her mother’s wicked proclivities.
Hadn’t Beatrice been spot on in her assessment?
Rebecca had glommed onto the worst scoundrel she could have chosen, the one brute in the whole world who wanted to ruin every Carter, and Rebecca was a Carter! The girl was so stupid!
Beatrice was on her sinking ship, and as with Clayton, when she plummeted down, she’d be on her own. So would Rebecca. Rebecca probably believed Shawcross would rescue her as the calamity buried Beatrice, but the idiotic ninny was about to learn a hard lesson.
Rogues like Shawcross were dangerous, and when he boasted about how he would destroy the Carter family, he meant it. Rebecca was included in that group. Shawcross would never save her, and Beatrice wouldn’t let anybody else save her either.
She was still clutching the letter from Lord Selby, and she stomped over to the hearth and tossed it in the fire. She observed until it dwindled to ash, then she whirled away and proceeded to her room where she would begin plotting her next move.
For days, she’d been frozen with astonishment and despair and confused over her options, but she’d finally been imbued with the energy she needed to fight back. She’d start with Rebecca, and when she was finished with her young cousin, the bloody tart would be very, very sorry.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Psst!”
Rebecca had just stepped out of her bedchamber when Alex peeked out his door. He looked like a scamp who was contemplating mischief.
“I didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” he said.
“What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“Noon!” She groaned with dismay. “I can’t believe I overslept.”
Of course that was the expected result when a female traipsed off and let herself be ruined by a scoundrel. She staggered home and fell into an exhausted stupor.
“Are you sick?” Alex’s concern was evident.
“No, I’m fine. I worked hard yesterday, and with the stress I’m under, I was extra tired.”
“I guess you were. I was about to come in and shake you to find out if you were still breathing.”
“I am a bit off balance this morning,” she said. “I’ll perk up in a minute or two.”
“You can’t imagine everything that happened while you were loafing up here.”
“What happened?”
“When you and I were hiding last night, Clayton rioted in the parlors, smashing vases and tearing down curtains. He was bellowing and shouting and generally making a fool of himself in front of his friends.”
“My goodness.”
“The servants are all gossiping about it. He was so drunk that he finally passed out, and the footmen carried him to bed.”
“That’s not the sort of sordid tale you should hear. The staff ought to be more careful about discussing it in your presence.”
“They’re all tittering. I couldn’t not hear it.”
“No, I suppose you couldn’t.”
“He called off the party, and he and his guests left for London.”
“I knew they were planning to go, but apparently, I missed the chaos of their departure.”
“The guests likely would have fled anyway—even if Clayton hadn’t ended the celebration early. They were all disgusted.” He grinned. “I’m betting he doesn’t have any friends anymore.”
She raised a brow. “If he’s suffered a collapse of his personal situation, we shouldn’t rejoice. If he loses his social standing, it might send him scurrying home where he’d be in residence constantly. Then where would we be?”
“True,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I have to get downstairs, and I hope I’m not in trouble.”
“Last I checked, Mrs. Carter was still locked in her bedchamber, so she probably isn’t aware you slept in, and don’t fret. If she’s been inquiring, the servants will have invented a story to conceal your absence.”
The
news was so welcome that her knees were weak. She riffled his hair in an affectionate way that he hated. “You and I need to have our talk. There might be some awful consequences winging in our direction. We have to be prepared.”
“What consequences?”
“Mr. Shawcross has taken over Carter Imports, and I’ve been informed that he owns Carter Crossing too.”
Alex scowled. “It’s the rumor that’s swirling, but how could he own them?”
“Clayton gambled them away, and Mr. Shawcross bought them from Clayton’s creditors.”
“Well, that’s a marvelous conclusion, isn’t it?” Alex asked. “I like Mr. Shawcross very much, and he’ll be much better at running the estate.”
“Maybe, but I’m afraid he intends to kick the family out of the house this week.”
She watched as he worked it out. “We’re family too.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends on the moment.”
“Will we have to leave with them?”
“I don’t know. I’ve become friendly with him, so I doubt he’ll treat us as he treats Beatrice.” She whispered a silent prayer that her assessment would turn out to be correct. “In fact, I’m sure he won’t treat us badly. I’m sure we’re safe.”
The prior night, she’d visited Raven because she’d been lonely and despairing and had been keen to share a private interval with him, but she’d had an ulterior motive too. She’d ruined herself for him, and for her efforts, he’d told her she would be his forever.
It wasn’t exactly a nuptial proposal, but she considered it one. A man couldn’t engage in the marital act with a young lady unless there was a marriage at the end. She declined to accept that he wouldn’t wed her, yet she was terribly disoriented.
She wished she had a father or brother who could speak to him for her. That’s how marriages were arranged. The two parties involved never made the decision themselves. Older, wiser people stepped in and organized it.
Since she had no one to assist her, she’d have to garner what she craved on her own. But how, precisely, did a female nudge a male into proceeding?
