Outbid by the Boss (19 page)

“Is this too much?”

Sam shook her head. “No, no. Please, go on.” She clenched her hands under the table where he couldn’t see them. His confession petrified her, yet filled her with resolve at the same time. He was fighting one of his biggest demons by sharing his deepest fears with her. She could do no less now that she knew the truth about her own family.

Chas sighed. “My poor grandmother had no idea. She was the sacrificial lamb, you see, young, beautiful and wealthy. Her father arranged everything with his daughter’s future husband. I’m sure in the earlier months, my grandmother thought theirs was what a marriage should be, and
then my father was born. Once he had his heir, my grandfather simply picked up where he had left off, leaving my grandmother to cope, or not, as she saw fit.” Chas snorted, and took another drink.

The candles had burned down over the evening; their light cast harsh shadows across the rigid panes of her lover’s face. Sam’s heart went out to him.

“How many?” She heard herself whisper.

“Candlesticks? Only two were left when he died, seven when I inherited. My father couldn’t have cared less about the collection, but my grandmother did. She scoured the valley, quietly buying back the five she found. Making amends the best she could.”

“And the rest?” Sam asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed the quiver in her voice.

“I used my connections; let certain dealers know I was interested.” Chas waved his arm to encompass the candlesticks positioned about the room. “It took me years to find the next three. And then there you were, bidding on number eleven.” His fingers curled around his glass. “Luckiest day of my life! I know I should have told you sooner, Sam, but it’s not an easy story to share. With anyone. Even you. I was afraid of what you would think of my family, and of me.” His jaw twitched. “Forced to outbid the boss, and then blackmailed into accompanying him to Porter Hall. For a while, even I thought I was just following family tradition, taking advantage of the power they held over those who worked for them. But you understood and you trusted me when not many others would.”

Sam swallowed hard. The irony was not lost on her as she prepared to test Chas’ mettle even further. “Do you have any idea…” she asked, “where the twelfth candlestick is?”

“Yes, and no. But I don’t think we’ll ever get our hands on it.”

“Why not?”

Chas’ eyes glinted like steel daggers. “Because according to my father, it disappeared along with my grandmother’s maid and one of the grooms. My father was a boy at the time, but he remembered the gossip. There had been a fight. Over the maid. And my grandfather swore if he ever saw either of them again, he’d have them both horsewhipped and thrown in jail.”

Sam couldn’t hold back a gasp. This was getting more complicated by the minute. “What about your grandmother? What did she say?”

Chas shook his head. “She had already passed away by the time my father told me the story. Not that it would have made any difference. The candlestick is likely beyond reach. They probably went to Australia…or maybe even Canada.”

“It was Canada,” whispered Sam.

The room went still. Across the table, Chas literally froze in place. She could see his mind racing to make sense of what she had just said. For the first time, another horrible fear occurred to her, that he might think she set the whole thing up from the time she arrived in England and went to work for Burton-Porter. But she hadn’t known, not really, where to start or what to look for. It had been about finding out who she was and where the candlestick fit into her family history. She had her answers, and now Chas deserved to hear them before he jumped to any more wrong conclusions.

“Your grandmother and mine were more than mistress and servant,” she started tentatively, “They were friends. My grandmother’s name was Grace, by the way. She was lovely and hard-working and honest as the day is long. She was your grandmother’s maid before she was married and came with her to Porter Hall.”

“It fits perfectly with everything you’ve just told me,” she went on. “But your father had it wrong. My grandmother was in love with a groom, Patrick Quinn. They wanted to get married, but had to keep their plans secret until they had enough money. Unfortunately, my grandmother became pregnant. She couldn’t hide it forever. And once your grandfather caught wind of it, he was furious. You know he considered the household staff his property. He went down to the stables with his horsewhip, only my grandfather knocked him out cold before he had a chance to use it. It was your grandmother who gave them the candlestick and sent them on their way.”

Exhaustion swept over Sam as she waited for Chas’ response.

It came with an ice-cold fury. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Samantha Redfern, but my grandmother spent the rest of her life trying to undo the damage her husband, and then her son, caused this family. And not once did she make any mention of your grandmother.”

But Sam was not backing down. “I grew up with that candlestick,” she said. “In a tiny home in Toronto. With very little money, but with kindness and honour and love. I only knew two things about that candlestick. That it was precious and that there were more like it back in England; any more than that my grandmother would not say.” Sam’s heart was pounding so loudly, she could barely think. Even she had had doubts about her grandparents once she
realized the connection. But not anymore. As much as she loved Chas, she had to set the record straight, even if it meant losing him.

“Unlike the others,” she began, “my grandparents could have easily sold the candlestick. Lots of people emigrated with something portable that they could sell or barter to help them get a new start. But my grandparents never would…your grandmother had made mine promise to never tell anyone how they came by the candlestick, she was that afraid of her husband. So my grandmother never did.”

Chas leapt to his feet. “I don’t believe this!” He began to pace back and forth, his anger driving him on. Sam’s head throbbed as she fought to remain strong. It wouldn’t have mattered when she told him; it was easier for him to believe what he’d been told years earlier, than accept that his beloved grandmother had given away a candlestick even if it had been because of her husband’s behaviour.

Chas whirled around and came back to stand opposite. “So where’s the candlestick now?” he demanded.

Sam’s chin went up. “In my flat.”

Gripping the back of his chair, Chas glared at her across the table. “How could you not tell me this before?”

“Because I didn’t know the whole story until yesterday. And while we’re on the subject, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need one.”

Sam was on her feet now, stunned by the dire turn of events.

“It was George, wasn’t it? That’s why you went to see him!” Chas’ voice stung with accusation.

Eyes blazing, Sam nodded curtly. “I found a reference to my grandfather in the tack room. He had worked here as a groom. And then all the pieces fell into place, except one…George had known my mother when she was young. And his mother was assisting in the kitchens that evening at the Hall. She helped your grandmother cover her tracks.”

“Seeing as you can’t bring yourself to believe me, you can verify my story with George, Mr. Porter.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “I think it’s time we said ‘good night.’”

“Fine with me,” snapped Chas.

“In fact,” said Sam, “I’ll find my own way back to London.”

“I’ll have John run you to the station in the morning.”

“Do that,” retorted Sam. Head held high, she walked around the table and out the door, her knees wobbling so hard, she had no idea how she remained upright. As she mounted the stairs of Porter Hall to gather her things, she felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.

Glass slippers were for fairy tales.

Alone in the dining room, Chas felt as though every drop of blood had drained from his body. He’d gambled on gaining Sam’s trust by telling her how vile his grandfather had been and how shamefully the Burton-Porter men had treated their women. And what had he received in the end? Nothing but a massive betrayal. Samantha Redfern, the woman he’d come to love with all his heart, had known about the candlesticks from the start.

Or had she?

He refilled his glass and sat down, but as he raised the cognac to his lips, all he could see was the burnished copper of his sweetheart’s hair shinning in the candlelight. A groan escaped him. He loved her. He knew she loved him, yet this incredible wedge had just come between them, splitting them apart at the very moment they should be planning a future together.

The remains of their romantic dinner were all around him, mocking him for his stupidity.

And there was no one to blame but himself. He was the one who’d brought her to Porter Hall in the first place. He knew in his heart that her surprise at the auction had been genuine, just as her chagrin at being coerced into helping him catalogue the estate had been the real thing.

He toyed with the idea of rousting George out of bed, but that would be ludicrous. It was late, George was an old man, and if there was one thing he knew about Samantha Redfern, she did not lie. Like him, she might omit a few facts now and then, but he couldn’t fault her honesty. In fact, he thought sitting up straighter, had she wanted to, she could have kept the whole story about the candlestick to herself. He would never have been the wiser.

Was it true then?

Had her grandmother and his been close enough to conspire against his grandfather? He quickly reviewed what he’d told Sam, and realized that when he combined his knowledge with hers, it had the ring of truth about it.

He needed to think, and think hard. Putting aside his cognac and grabbing a candlestick from the table, Chas went around the room carefully snuffing out the remaining candles. Then, he navigated his way to the gallery by candlelight.

Strolling its length with a heavy heart reminded him that the relatives and the history he’d lived with all his life, was a burden he no longer wished to bear. That was why he had planned to sell Porter Hall. But then Sam had entered his house and his life and it seemed that the dark history had lightened, been banished by their growing love. It didn’t matter that he and Sam had been reluctant to take that final leap of faith; the importance lay in that they had offered their secrets to each other. And then he’d shut her down.

He’d been wrong. He had thought he could mend the past by reclaiming its squandered treasures. Now he knew that the past must be healed by his honour and a love built on unquestioning trust.

He would not grill George for confirmation of Sam’s story. He would believe it because she believed it, and she had offered it to him – a heritage as dear to her as any this old house could harbour. He groaned. Were there any more tests of fire needed to burn away the weight of his inheritance?

Heart pounding, he moved through the silent house with new-found purpose. He would tell Sam how much he loved her, that he believed her, and that whatever had happened in the past, was just that. Ancient history.

But when he reached her door, he hesitated. He’d wounded her so badly, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again. But he had to try. Raising his hand, he knocked softly. There was no response. He pressed his forehead against the door and waited. Still nothing. Silently cupping his hand around the doorknob, he gave it a slight turn, hoping he could at least whisper her name or even hear her gently breathing. But it was locked.

He wanted to pound on her door and demand her forgiveness, but that would only prove that he had been right all along. That he was just another in a long line of arrogant Burton-Porter males, and he didn’t deserve her.

That perhaps it was already too late.

Fumbling with exhaustion, Sam unlocked the door to her flat, braced it with her shoulder, and tugged her cases over the threshold, scattering the dust motes that had collected in her absence. With a sigh of relief, she allowed the door to
shut firmly behind her.

It had been a miserable journey back to London. Slipping down the back stairs while it was still dark had made her feel like a thief in the night. But she'd managed to avoid seeing Chas, and after the abrupt end to their last evening together at Porter Hall, Sam was thankful for small mercies.

Desperate to run from the pain, she'd waited in the shadows by the coach house knowing John Weekes rose before dawn. He'd been aware, of course, about the relationship between her and Chas, and didn't question her decision to leave. He'd quietly driven her into Buxton to catch the early train, and gone to fetch her a coffee while she waited on the platform. But the pain and heartbreak had followed her all the way back to London.

Despite it all, she was home now, determined to ban Chas from her thoughts as she went through the flat like an automaton, opening windows, making tea in the tiny kitchen, drawing a bath, and pretending all the while, that she’d just returned from New York.

Leaving her cases for later, Sam leaned back in the tub with an herbal tea in hand, and soaked the fatigue from her bones. What little sleep she’d had during the long night had been restless, her dreams a kaleidoscope of emotion-laid images from the past ten days. It was ironic really, to have discovered her past and found the love of her life in the same place, a place where she knew she belonged, only to discover that the lord of the manor was a throwback, as ancient as the land he controlled. She’d awoken this morning in a tangle of sheets, anxious to quit Porter Hall and its pig-headed, short-sighted, cold-hearted, and arrogant owner as soon as humanly possible.

Sam scrubbed her face. She was being unfair and unkind. Chas was warm and wonderful; it just hadn't worked out in the end. But oh, it had been glorious while it lasted. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered their first ride across Burton Park together, her tumble by the stream and that kiss, deep and penetrating and brooking no refusal, followed immediately by remorse and what are we getting into...their different worlds continually colliding and then merging again
as the week wore on. They had come to know and to love each other with a depth that would have been impossible had they not been at Porter Hall.