The Secret Rose (5 page)

Sydney looked in her direction to get her approval, and Abigail nodded.

“Next, your father bequeathed the sum of ten thousand pounds to his butler, William Palmsworth. Far more than I thought was necessary,” Sydney Craddock said with a click of his tongue. “I tried to explain to your father that you might object to giving a household steward such a huge amount, even if the man had been with you for a very long time, but he was quite adamant and certain you would agree with his decision. I hope—”

Abigail lifted her chin. Her sudden movement stopped the solicitor’s words. “Go on, Mr. Craddock.”

“Now, we come to your father’s London properties and his shipping interests. They will all go to you, Miss Langdon, until your marriage. Then they will, of course, transfer to your husband. This includes your London town house on Old Province Drive and your father’s fleet of three ships, including the new clipper, the
Abigail Rose.
”

“And what about Fallen Oaks?” she asked anxiously.

Mr. Craddock looked at her dumbstruck. “Fallen Oaks is not yours, Miss Langdon. I thought you knew.”

“Not mine?” she uttered, her voice barely able to choke out the words. “But Fallen Oaks isn’t entailed. What did Father do with it?”

“I’m afraid your father left Fallen Oaks to a distant cousin, which is…let me see…” He nervously thumbed through his papers until he found the right spot. “Fallen Oaks, as well as your father’s title, will now pass to your father’s deceased second cousin’s oldest son, Rodney.”

Abigail felt the room spin around her. Her father had never told her. She’d thought it would be hers.

“But it isn’t entailed,” she repeated.

“No, Miss Langdon,” Sydney stuttered. “But your father thought it important that it pass down to the new Baron Langdon. I think he did not want you to seclude yourself in the country.”

“No,” she whispered, standing on legs that threatened not to hold her. Surely her father hadn’t done this. She couldn’t lose the estate.

“All is not lost, Miss Langdon,” Mr. Craddock said, trying to console her. “You have the ships and your town house in London.”

A wave of panic chilled her to the bone, a fear as great as any she had ever known. “I will not give up Fallen Oaks. I cannot.”

Abigail frantically paced the floor, then spun around to face Sydney. “Is there any way we can change such a stipulation?”

“No, Miss Langdon. I’m afraid what’s done is done.”

She clenched her hands in tight fists. “It can’t be. There must be something we can do.”

“Miss Langdon,” the solicitor said, running his finger around his too-tight collar. “I hesitate to mention this, but perhaps it is in your best interest to be rid of Fallen Oaks. It has not been profitable for many years. It is only because of your father’s immense and very lucrative shipping interests that he was able to give away such generous gifts in his will.”

Abigail’s mind raced in dizzying circles. There had to be something she could do. She couldn’t lose Fallen Oaks. She couldn’t. Everything that was important to her was here. And she would not be separated from it.

She shot the solicitor a frantic glance. “Can the estate be sold?”

Mr. Craddock stuttered nervously. “Well, uh…Yes. There is nothing preventing your cousin from selling Fallen Oaks.”

Ethan Cambridge’s eyebrows shot up, but Abigail ignored his questioning look.

She pressed her sweating palms against her skirt. “Have you spoken to my cousin yet, Mr. Craddock? Does he know what Father left him in the will?”

Sydney fumbled with the papers on his lap. “No. I wanted to go over the details of your father’s will with you first.”

“Do you know where my cousin resides, Mr. Craddock?”

“Your cousin owns an estate in Northumberland. But at present I believe he resides in London.”

“Is there anything that would prevent
me
from purchasing Fallen Oaks?”

“Uh…uh…I’m afraid that would not be advisable, Miss Langdon.”

“I didn’t ask if it was advisable, Mr. Craddock. I asked if it was possible.”

“Well…yes. Of course it’s possible. But I’m afraid you will find it difficult.”

“Why? What makes it so difficult?”

“Money, Miss Langdon. Although your father left you the ships and the promise of a more than adequate yearly income, he did not leave you enough cash to pay what your cousin would undoubtedly demand for his newly-acquired country estate.”

“What about the ships? Could I find a buyer for the ships and pay for Fallen Oaks with the money from the sale of the ships?”

For the first time since Mr. Craddock had started the reading of her father’s will, Ethan Cambridge made his presence known. “Such a move would be foolhardy, Miss Langdon.”

Abigail glared at him, then turned away. She refused to listen to his opinion. “Might I sell the ships, Mr. Craddock?”

“Well…uh,” he stammered, casting Cambridge a look that pleaded for help. “It isn’t that you
cannot
sell the ships, Miss Langdon, it’s that you—”

“Yes, it is,” Cambridge interrupted. “You cannot sell the ships. I will not let you.”

She spun on him. “You have nothing to say about it, Mr. Cambridge.”

“Perhaps not, but may I suggest that were your father still alive, he would never approve of such a move.”

“Well, my father is not here to approve or disapprove of anything I do.”

For long, tense moments they faced each other, each daring the other to make the first move.

Cambridge released a deep sigh, then raked his fingers through his hair. “Please, Miss Langdon, let’s discuss this calmly before you make any rash decisions.”

He held out his hand, indicating he wanted her to sit, but Abigail waved him away. He raised his hands in surrender, then backed up and let her step in front of him. Before he sat, he slid his chair to face hers. Their knees almost touched.

“Miss Langdon,” he said, leaning forward, positioning himself only inches away from her. “Let me explain the problems you would have if you traded your father’s fleet of ships in exchange for Fallen Oaks. Although your estate is beautiful, your residence here in the country is not large enough, nor profitable enough, to support you for long. You need the income from your father’s ships to keep Fallen Oaks in the black. The ships are all your father left you that is of any real value. In time, the sale of their cargoes will make you a wealthy woman. If you give up your ships, it will only be a matter of a few years and you will lose Fallen Oaks, too, and have nothing to ensure you are an enviable marriage prospect.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Are you referring to my dowry, Mr. Cambridge? Are you insinuating that without a handsome dowry, I would no longer be of value to another suitor as devoted and considerate as Stephen? Well, Mr. Cambridge,” she said with all the rancor she’d held back for eighteen months. “I am not an enviable prospect now. Your brother saw to that.”

He blanched as if she’d struck him. Her words had accomplished everything she’d intended.

“Mr. Craddock,” she said, giving Ethan Cambridge her back. “I would like a message sent to the new Baron Langdon, requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. Please inform him of my desire to forfeit all or part of Langdon Shipping in exchange for Fallen Oaks.”

Abigail walked across the room and opened the door. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I am suddenly feeling unwell.”

She waited for them to leave.

“Miss Langdon—”

“Good day, Mr. Cambridge.” She cut him off before he could say more, then turned to the solicitor. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Craddock, as soon as you speak with my cousin.”

“Yes, of course,” Craddock stuttered, then shuffled out the door.

Abigail ignored the thunderous look in Ethan Cambridge’s glare and shut the door behind them both.

When she was finally alone, she clutched her hand to her stomach and fought the urge to be ill. She had just made the decision to give up her ships, the part of her father’s legacy she loved more than anything. Yet what choice did she have? She could either lose the ships or the convent on Fallen Oaks.

Abigail swiped away a tear that dared to fall from her eyes. She had no choice at all but to sell.

. . .

Ethan sat in Stephen’s London town house study, alone and in the dark except for the dwindling fire in the grate. In an uncharacteristic show of temper, he threw his half-full whiskey glass into the fire and watched the flames shoot brilliant oranges and blues and yellows.

Damn the woman’s independent nature, and damn Stephen for whatever he’d done to her. What had he been thinking, walking out on a girl he was engaged to marry with no more thought to her feelings than his selfish excuse that he needed to see the world? And where the hell was he? Ethan had sent runners looking for his brother for nearly a year, and they couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere.

Ethan fought the fear that turned his stomach every time he thought of the tragic possibilities. What could have happened for him to leave like he did, without even a note or a message in all those months to explain where he was and tell them he was safe?

Ethan bolted from his chair and paced the room.
Bloody hell!
How could Stephen have abandoned the girl like he had? If anyone needed advice, she did. She was willing to give up a clipper ship! One of the most profitable ships on the sea. He did not even want to contemplate the benefit such a vessel could provide for her future. For his.

Ethan braced his arms against the mantel and stared into the flames. The remains of a half-burned log crashed into the smoldering embers, scattering a brilliant shower of blinding sparks. For a moment he saw her pale face staring in disbelief when Sydney Craddock informed her she would lose Fallen Oaks. He knew at that moment she was closer to losing control than she’d been in the two days he’d been with her.

His conscience nagged uncomfortably. She was right when she’d said he had no right to interfere. She was not betrothed to Stephen any longer. He saw how she reacted each time Stephen’s name was mentioned, as if her feelings for him were still so raw she could not hide the hurt caused by something as innocent as the mention of his name.

Ethan lowered his head between his outstretched arms. It had been eighteen bloody months. What could possibly be important enough to keep Stephen from returning?

A noise at the front entrance pushed Ethan from his thoughts. A moment later Hargrove knocked softly, then opened the door, carrying with him a large candelabra, each branch glowing brightly.

“Mr. Sydney Craddock to see you,” he said, placing the candles on a table and lighting the sconces on the wall. “He insists you are expecting him.”

“Yes, Hargrove. Show him in.”

Hargrove opened the door wider and let in a very agitated Sydney Craddock.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Hargrove asked before leaving.

“No, that will be all, Hargrove.” Ethan turned his attention to the solicitor. “Won’t you have a seat, Sydney?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The solicitor sat in the chair nearest the big oak desk that had been Ethan’s father’s, and now was Stephen’s. Many were the times Ethan had sat in that same chair and listened to his father’s harsh lectures, heard the disappointment in his voice. Many were the times Ethan had been forced to suffer through glorious tales of Stephen’s brilliant accomplishments, while Ethan had been reprimanded for one misdemeanor or another: his unruly behavior at one of his mother’s social functions, his inability to conform, his failure to meet his parents’ expectations, his independent nature. From little on, Stephen had always been the perfect son. Ethan had never quite been able to measure up.

“What have you learned, Sydney?”

“I did just as you asked, Mr. Cambridge. I met with the newly titled Baron Langdon.”

Ethan was intrigued. “What kind of person did you find him to be?”

Sydney looked around as if he were telling tales out of school. “I fear my informants were correct in their assessment of Baron Langdon. If his behavior tonight is the norm, it is obvious he is given to strong drink and has a weakness for the gaming tables. I had heard these rumors before our meeting, but as we talked, I saw firsthand how fond he was of his liquor and taking any bet that was offered. I left him at Manny’s, and venture he will be there for quite some time yet tonight. He was losing heavily.”

“Did you talk to him as I instructed?”

“Yes, Mr. Cambridge. I informed him he was now the proud owner of his deceased father’s second cousin’s country estate just outside London.”

“What was his reaction?”

“At first, he was quite pleased, until I explained what all would be involved. As you expressed, I described the large manor house in infinite detail, making sure he understood the vast amount of money it would take to maintain its upkeep.”

“Did you tell him about the pact the late Baron Langdon had made with his tenants concerning the yearly provisions he guaranteed?”

“Yes. He found this quite distressing. He could not understand any owner caring so much about the condition in which his tenants lived. He expressed his opinion that such a promise was a flagrant waste of money.”

“And did you explain to him about his responsibility to the convent?”

“Yes. That was my last point. I fear by the time I left, he did not look on his newfound acquisition as a gift, but more as a liability.” Sydney fumbled with the leather folder still clutched in his hands. “I’m not sure what you are planning, Mr. Cambridge, but—”

Ethan held up a staying hand. “That’s for the best, Sydney.” Ethan breathed a deep sigh, then stood behind his desk while the solicitor fidgeted, then finally took the hint that their discussion was at an end.

“If I can be of service to you in any other way…”

“Yes, Sydney. Thank you.”

Hargrove appeared to show Sydney Craddock out.

Ethan listened for the front door to close, then shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He was about to take the biggest gamble of his life.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Hargrove said when Sydney Craddock was gone.