Cachet (30 page)

As soon as Boyd closed the door behind them, Richelle released the breath she'd been holding. "Morgan did tell you we got married, didn't he?"

Boyd nodded. "He wired me from New York that he'd married you, but he wanted me to keep the news to myself. Chrissandra's the only other person who knows."

"Is he pretending he's still a bachelor? Why? Is he ashamed of having married me, Boyd?"

"Not
of
you. He—" He stopped abruptly, his face going a deep crimson.

"Boyd, this is my life we're discussing. You're the only other person who knows Morgan well enough to know his mind. I'm trying to understand what I'm up against."

"When he came back, we had a talk. He told me you'd lied—"

"Didn't he tell you I had a good reason?"

"About being too ill to sail home," he went on. Richelle was momentarily stunned. Had Morgan kept the secret about her previous identity even from his best friend?

"He was certain you'd decided to stay on in America, though I suspect I now see the true reason you weren't able to sail with him." He pointedly gazed at her abdomen. "He said you'd been ill. Intestinal problem, or something. If he knew more about women, I think he might have guessed the truth."

"If he knew more about women?" she snorted. "Boyd, we're talking about the district rake!"

"Who had no mother, whose sister was gone before he earned that title. I don't know that he'd recognize the signs, Rachel."
Rachel
. It was the second time he'd called her that, and they were alone now.
Morgan hadn't told him about the criminal charge.

Boyd sighed heavily. "He's intimidated by your wealth. I must say I was surprised to hear your American home's a virtual mansion. Morgan's convinced you'll never relinquish it. I think the best he hopes for is a sort of divided life between here and Philadelphia. He said you'd come to England originally on rather a lark—"

"He didn't say why?"

"Something to do with family matters, is all I recall. A moot point now that your father passed away. My condolences on your loss."

"Thank you," she murmured. "This is such a tangled mess. When you wrote about the problems with the warehouse, I offered part of my inheritance to clear the debt against the inn. Morgan refused. He insisted he needed to come back here. Just after he got your letter, the doctor confirmed I was pregnant and forbade me to make the crossing until I was farther along. I lost two babies during my first marriage. Morgan knows that. I couldn't tell him about this child, so I had the doctor mislead him. It was the only way to get Morgan home."

"Aye, his unwavering, damnable pride being what it is. Always makes things difficult. I've often accused him of preferring life that way."

Richelle smiled weakly. "You may be right. He once suggested I become the village schoolmistress. Of course, that would be after he battles the council elders over erecting a schoolhouse and convinces them to hire one."

"He's put it to the vote several times. I'm the lone member to agree with him."

"He envisions a future with his son and yours managing this company in their fathers' tradition."

Boyd grinned. "A mutual fantasy we've had since we were young. Typical masculine boast, that's all."

"It's not. Don't you see? I could be that schoolmistress and give our son knowledge from books. I can teach reading and ciphering, but he'll need more than that. He needs his father. What you and Morgan know about trade isn't
in
any book."

"And what Morgan doesn't understand about his wife would fill one."

"How do I win him back, Boyd?"

Boyd scowled for a moment. "His father provided for the family sufficiently so Morgan didn't have to toil as a lad. Not that he came from your privilege, but Andrew Tremayne was a leading citizen in the area and more than moderately successful. Still, Morgan hired out to any farmer who'd pay him. Up before dawn, breaking his back for next to nothing in wages. Morgan had no need to spend or hoard money. Just a burning need to earn it."

"He told me about Anna. He still feels guilty about her death. Maybe that's why it's hard for him to believe he's entitled to happiness."

Boyd shook his head. "It started even before her death. He's always been driven by some mysterious inner demon. You'll recall I warned you from the first, trade and business are his whole life."

Richelle cleared her throat. "A man came from London recently and bought up the promissory notes on the inn and the cottage. He was my agent. I purchased the granary. I intend to restore Morgan's assets. His sudden decision to accompany me to America and the sale of the granary eroded his financial stability. I must undo some of that damage."

"He must be told, Rachel. About his assets and the child. Right away."

"I know. Is he in town or away on business?"

"He's here, staying in the cottage. Surprised the hell out of me when he announced he was going back there."

"Do you think you can convince him to meet with the new owner of the granary at three tomorrow?"

"He suspects that's Somersdale. It's been sitting idle for months. Who would buy the place to leave it empty, particularly with autumn harvest upon us? He believes Somersdale bought it purely to spite him."

Richelle smiled in triumph. "Somersdale
did
, but has unknowingly sold it to me. I don't want Morgan to know that, however. I've got someone meeting with Arnold. He won't tell Morgan he ever held ownership. Maybe you could tell Morgan you met the new owner, who's aware of the Bargainer's reputation. Offer a commission if he'll arrange to rent grain storage to the area farmers. That's not a lie. I'd like him to get commitments from them. He can earn the granary back from me."

"I never realized you had such a devious mind," Boyd said with a laugh. "I can make him curious enough to ride out."

"When does he leave the house in the mornings, and where does he usually go? I don't want to run into him before the meeting."

Boyd rose and tucked his chair back under the desk. "When he's not at the inn or livery, he comes here. He's due today, so if you don't wish to see him, you'd better go."

"I don't want to discuss things until we can be alone. I'm staying in Newcastle. I'll be at the granary tomorrow afternoon. I'm relying on you to make sure he rides out there."

"Oh, he'll be there, if I have to drag him behind his own horse."

Chapter 26

Richelle arrived at the mercantile to find the window shades pulled down and the sign on the front door showing CLOSED. She went around to the side entrance, where, as planned, Lorella had secretly turned the thumb-lock while pretending to browse. That door was unlocked, and Richelle entered the empty store without making a sound.

She turned the window sign back to read OPEN and raised the shades, then unlocked the front door and purposely let it bang closed.

"Mr. Somersdale, are you here?" she called in a clear voice.

He scurried out from the back, hastily fumbling to smooth his shirtfront with one hand while the other raked over his balding pate. Lorella appeared right behind him, a grin playing across her lips. "Thanks for the special arrangements, Arnold."

"I never said there'd be any—er," He glanced at Richelle, whose face was still obscured by the hood of her dark cloak. "May I be of assistance, mistress? This young lady was just—"

Richelle snorted and tossed her head so her hood fell back. "It's plain enough what she was doing, and you, as well. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Somersdale,
negotiating
like that."

"Wi-Widow Cordell!" Arnold stammered. "I wasn't aware you'd come back to us. Rumor had it you'd left Crowshaven for other climes."

"I went back to America. My father took ill and passed away. I've come to discuss business with you." She lifted her eyebrows. "If you're quite finished."

Somersdale mumbled something unintelligible and glared at Lorella, who appeared to be absently browsing about the mercantile once more.

Richelle pulled the banker's documents from her bag. "I hold the promissory note on the inn and have a bill of sale you executed for the granary. The man from London was my agent. You've done business with me, Mr. Somersdale. You simply didn't realize it."

He glanced at the papers in Richelle's hand. "Your father must have left you very well off. Congratulations. So you've come to buy up the town. Sorry, my enterprise isn't for sale."

"Did Morgan know how close you were to destroying him?"

Arnold snickered. "Still mooning after Tremayne, eh? What a waste! You can do better than that arrogant tippler. Particularly now that you've a substantial dowry. I might overlook our unsavory history and court you myself."

"Did he know?" Richelle repeated in a hiss.

"I doubt it."

Richelle glanced down. The cloak still disguised her pregnancy. "I paid you a twenty percent profit on the granary. Quite a handsome return on an investment you held only a few months. You bought the inn's note at a discount. You've made the only profits you ever will from my husband's difficulties."

"Husband?" Somersdale snorted in derision.

"Morgan was gone for several months earlier this summer. He met up with me in London and we married aboard the ship to New York."

"Ha! No wench has been able to get Tremayne to the altar, and you're not the first to try. You're hoping he'll wed you. That's why you've come back and begun tossing your inheritance about. Did you have to buy your late husband, as well?"

Lorella moved faster than Richelle would have believed possible. One second the man stood erect. The next he was covering his genitals with both hands and gasping for breath.

"You know his cachet, don't you, Arnold?" Richelle inquired, ignoring his obvious distress. "You must. His father was your business partner at one time. Andrew wore the signet before Morgan, and you've had dealings with both. Look at my wedding ring. Still doubt Morgan married me?" He couldn't even wheeze in answer.

"If you ever cross Morgan again, the entire district will be informed of your activities with this young lady. I doubt that would increase your matronly trade. I trust we understand one another. Since you now know my housekeeper in the Biblical sense, she'll be a frequent customer. And you'll treat her with the utmost courtesy, won't you?" Arnold nodded. "I see no reason why any of us need mention the unfortunate incident today. But you have far more to lose, should it come to light, than she does."

"I understand you, Rachel
Tremayne
," Arnold grimaced. "It appears we all underestimated you."

"You underestimate many people," Richelle answered. Lorella winked at him, grinning suggestively. Richelle's voice was strong and steady. "Not a strong point for someone who claims to be a man of commerce. Afternoon, storekeeper."

Lorella waited until they were back outside. "All right, I did your favor. Now why am I and everyone around here calling you
'
Rachel'?"

"It's a long story. It's just simpler to let them call me that than explain. And I like finding Morgan's the only one who knows my true name."

They paid a farmer to give them a ride out of the village. The man pulled to a halt in front of their tavern in Newcastle, cursing and kicking at an underfed cur who came sniffing at his feet. "Who does he belong to?" Richelle asked. She reached a tentative hand to the dog. He sniffed cautiously before he let her stroke his matted fur.

"Been hanging 'round here for weeks. Seen him last month when I was here for supplies. Best shoo him off before the innkeeper spots him."

"It's all right." Richelle bent and patted her knees, clucking her tongue. The dog trotted a few feet away. "Come on, fellow!" Richelle spoke gently. "Lorella and I know what it's like being stranded where you don't belong. We're nice ladies. We won't hurt you."

The dog edged closer. "Wouldn't trust him," the farmer cautioned. "Might have the foaming madness and turn on you."

"He's just frightened and hungry. Do you see his eyes, Lorella? He has good eyes. He's a good dog. A little boy should have a dog."

The driver accepted his pay and took off. With the man gone, the dog slunk closer and allowed Richelle to pet his head again. "Come on," she urged, grasping a tuft of fur behind one ear as she led him to the tavern door.

"You expect to march him in there, just like that?" Lorella asked, rolling her eyes. "Well, why not? You've only changed your name to Rachel and had me tussle the owner of the general store. Let's take a hound to dinner!"

Richelle had to smile. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. He'll only be here one night. We can hide him upstairs."

"Diversion time again," Lorella sighed. "I distract the barkeep. You trot the furry fellow up."

Lorella not only distracted the innkeeper, but got the male cook to slip her a plate of scraps. Richelle marveled at the girl's ability to get what she needed. She wished she could do the same. But she sat alone, brushing out her hair in a strange room, while the man she loved sat drinking in the Crowshaven pub.

She placed a hand on her abdomen. No, not quite alone. She had a tiny companion to give her a good swift kick now and again...
And I'm going to get your father back for you, if it's the last thing I do.