Bartered Bride, page 11
“We’ll be married by then. Don’t you think I would’ve noticed if you’d left town for a few days? How were you planning to get there, and who is going with you? You can’t go alone. I don’t know if I’ll have time to accompany you.”
She stiffened. “We’re going by train. There are about fifty ladies going, and even if there weren’t, I would be fine going by myself. I’m not a child, you know.”
“Fifty women?”
She smiled. “Yes. The number was much lower a couple weeks ago, but thanks to Mother and the marriage contract, I now have the funds to charter two railcars to take us to St. Paul. She did insist I have my own money to use however I like once we’re married.”
Mrs. Britten turned around and frowned, shaking her head. “Don’t say something like that, lass. He’ll get the idea you’re marrying him for money.”
A cold sweat of guilt pricked Jonathan’s upper chest and back. Marrying for money. He dropped his questions. The further he steered from that rocky shoal, the better.
Sixteen
The distinctive clang of a hammer on metal reverberated through the boiler room of the Bethany. Jonathan ducked to enter the cramped space on the heels of Noah. Coal dust, oil, rust, and machinery smells assaulted him. He hunched his shoulders inside his wool coat. In dock as she was, the boilers were silent and cold.
“I wanted to inspect the progress myself !” Noah shouted above the noise. “I think we’re a little ahead of schedule. Might be able to pull out on time after all. Day after Thanksgiving with a full load of ore.”
Jonathan nodded. “That’s only two days away. At least you’ll be here for the Shipbuilders’ Ball.” His boots crunched on the iron grating of the gangway. The massive ribs of the ship curved along the walls, necessitating a careful watch lest he bang his head.
“They’re double-checking the plating on the port side. We scraped the side of the lock up at the Soo on the last trip through.” Noah shook his head, pursing his lips. “Should’ve taken the wheel myself. Let my first mate take us out.”
“You treat this ship like your baby. If you could bring her home at night and tuck her into bed, you’d be happy.”
“The only girl I’ll ever love.” Noah rubbed his gloved hand along the bulkhead, a grin splitting his bearded face.
“Captain?” A head appeared at the top of the steep stairs. “Someone on the dock asking permission to come aboard to see you.”
Noah frowned. “Did he say who he was?”
“Said his name was Gervase Fox.”
Noah raised an eyebrow at Jonathan. “I’ve heard of him. What’s he want?”
“Don’t ask me.” Jonathan shrugged. “I knew he was in town, saw him at dinner one night.”
Noah turned to the deckhand. “Send him to the wheelhouse. We’ll meet him there.”
They climbed the ladderlike steps from the belly of the ship to the spar deck then another flight to the cabin deck. The aft-most hatch lay open, giving them a long view down to the bottom of the hold. Noah tromped up another flight of stairs to the pilothouse, Jonathan on his heels. Everything about the day was raw, and being surrounded by so much frozen metal only drove the cold deeper into his bones. Jonathan didn’t envy Noah a late November crossing. They had only a few minutes of stomping their feet and blowing on their hands in the tiny chart room behind the wheelhouse before the door opened.
Their visitor, rosy-cheeked and puffing, had to step rather high over the doorsill due to his small stature. “Colder than a spurned woman’s heart out there.” Gervase Fox stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Jonathan. I tried to call your office, but the operator said you aren’t on the telephone line yet. When I stopped by your offices, they said you were down here. Why you’d be crawling about a hunk of steel in the harbor instead of inside by a warm fire, I’ll never understand.” The force of the little man’s personality filled every inch of the chart room.
Jonathan shook his hand, not wincing as Gervase tried to crush his hand. “Always best to see for yourself where your money’s going, don’t you think? I’m sorry you had such a difficult time tracking me down. Grandfather’s resisting installing a telephone, but he’ll come around. Gervase, this is my brother Noah, captain of this vessel. Noah, this is Gervase Fox of Keystone Steel and Shipping.”
Gervase’s mustache bristled. “Captain. Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you. A hard-water captain who knows his ship and fears nothing.”
Noah let the man pump his hand vigorously, while sending an inquiring look to Jonathan.
Jonathan shrugged. “I hadn’t realized you’d still be in Duluth, Gervase.”
Gervase’s eyes never stopped their piercing journey around the room. Just like a thief sizing up his next job. He’d have some reason for coming to Duluth, for hunting them down at the wharf, but Jonathan didn’t expect him to reveal it too soon. “Ah, there’s always business to conduct. And as you said, best to view where your money’s going yourself. I’m looking into a few ventures. What do you know about Three Rivers Mining?”
Jonathan crossed his arms and leaned against the chart table. “Nothing to speak of. They have a mine near Biwabik. We might have carried some of their ore through a broker before. Couldn’t say for certain though. You thinking of branching out into the ore mines?”
“Oh, it’s worth a look while I’m in the area. I’ll be up on the Mesabi Range at the end of the week, just nosing around, you know? I have a little capital to invest. How’s your grandfather? I haven’t seen him since he had the apoplexy.”
Jonathan shifted his cold feet. “Grandfather’s fine.” He had better things to do than parry thrusts from this snake oil salesman. Why didn’t he get to the point?
Gervase clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I heard tell he was trying to sell a brickworks in Erie. That so?”
Jonathan shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Possibly. He buys and sells all the time.”
“Doing more selling than buying these days, I heard.” Gervase shot him an intent look.
“Nothing wrong with consolidating, is there?”
Noah’s brows came down at Jonathan’s offhand tone.
Gervase put on a bland expression. “No, not at all, laddie.” Then he grinned. “What say we shed this boardroom politicking and be straight with each other?”
“All right.” Jonathan nodded but didn’t let his guard down for a minute.
“I’ve heard rumors that Kennebrae is in trouble. A couple of his business partners have gone under, leaving him holding the bag on some sizable loans. But he’s sitting on one golden egg of an asset.” He swept his arm toward the bow. “Kennebrae Shipping. The largest fleet on the Lakes, four new boats set to slide off the shipyard ways this spring, and now a contract through marriage to transport most all the grain grown in the upper Midwest.”
Jonathan swallowed and took a deep breath. “Not that I’m substantiating those rumors, but I have to wonder what concern it is of yours.” And how many other vultures are circling?
Gervase looked him straight in the eye, all blandness wiped from his face, his eyes hard and glittering like Grandfather’s when he struck a particularly lucrative and satisfying deal. “I might be in the market to buy Kennebrae Shipping. A sale now, when the share prices are so high, would net more than a tidy profit for Abraham and bail him out of some rather unpleasant troubles back East. His bankers are getting antsy.”
The sheer boldness, the audacity of the man to come aboard this ship and make his bald offer took Jonathan’s breath away.
“Now”—Gervase put up his hands—“I can see I’ve startled you, but there’s no point in beating about the bush. Don’t think I intend to turn you out of a job. I would want you—and your brothers—to stay on with the company. You’ve done well growing your business and your reputation over the past eight years. I’ve been watching. Kennebrae ships would be added to the Keystone Steel fleet, and you would head up the offices and operations here in Duluth. Nothing would change there.”
Noah bombarded Jonathan with silent questions over Gervase’s head.
Jonathan pushed them aside with a “later” gesture of his hand. “That’s very kind of you, Gervase, but we’re not looking to sell. Whatever rumors you’ve heard are false.”
Gervase pursed his lips then clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know. I’ve got a job for you, either here or in Erie, if you ever want it. And I’ll pay top dollar for Kennebrae Shipping when you’re ready to sell.” He wrung Jonathan’s hand once more, waved a salute to Noah, and charged out the doorway. His footsteps on the metal ladder clattered through the framework of the pilothouse.
Noah crossed his arms and braced his feet apart. “What was that all about? Is Kennebrae Shipping in trouble?”
Jonathan’s gut twisted. “Noah, we need to talk, but not here. Let’s go to the office and warm up.”
❧
Back in the familiar comfort of his office, a roaring blaze in the fireplace, a mug of hot coffee cupped in his palms, Jonathan stretched his long legs and met Noah’s intent, questioning stare.
Noah blew across his own cup. “Spill it. It’s eating you alive, whatever it is.”
Jonathan lay his head back against the burgundy wingback. “I’m sick about it. Grandfather’s been wheeling and dealing, robbing one business to cover the losses of another. He told me about it two weeks ago, though he failed to mention the part about business partners doing a bunk and leaving him in the lurch. Apparently the whole empire—mines, mills, railroads—everything is hanging by a thread. The only thing holding it together is Kennebrae Shipping. The loans are due the first of the year, his credit’s extended as far as it can go, and Kennebrae Shipping is the security for the loan.”
Noah bolted to his feet, arms rigid, face frozen.
Jonathan knew just how he felt. Two weeks ago, he’d felt the same way. Two weeks of constant worry had worn off the edge.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Noah’s hurt showed in his eyes. He paced before the fireplace.
Jonathan put down his cup and leaned forward, resting his forehead in his palms, elbows on knees. “I’ve done nothing but wrestle with the numbers and try to get a handle on just how far things have slid. I hoped he was exaggerating. I hoped it was just another of his Machiavellian maneuvers to ensure I’d marry Melissa. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I found out. I should have.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
The sum drained the color from Noah’s cheeks above his beard. He stopped pacing and gripped the back of his chair. He stared at Jonathan, his eyes burning hot bright blue like the center of a gaslight flame.
Jonathan understood. The Bethany, the Jericho, the Nazareth, two dozen other ships, Kennebrae House, all gone to satisfy the debt, and even then it might not be enough.
Realization spread over Noah’s face. He took a steadying breath. “So we’re going under?”
“No, we’re not. Not if I have anything to do about it.”
“All I can say, big brother, it sure is a good thing you’re marrying money. Without Melissa’s dowry, we’d be sunk.”
Jonathan winced and picked up his cup. “Don’t even breathe those words. If Melissa found out—”
He broke off as a gasp came through his office door. He sat bolt upright, spilling his coffee.
Melissa stood in the doorway, white as a Lake Superior fog, her hand gripping the doorknob. With a small cry, she whirled and ran down the hall.
Seventeen
Melissa burst through the bronze and glass doors of Kennebrae Shipping and out onto the frosty street. The wind whipped her hair and clothes, slapping her cheeks with cold. The tears overflowed, tracking icy rivulets from lashes to chin.
Her coachman, Weatherby, stood at the heads of the team, his breath hanging in crystals. “Miss? Wasn’t he there?”
She tried to speak, but no sound came out. She couldn’t seem to draw a breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Miss?” Weatherby hurried to her side and grasped her elbow.
“I—I—can’t breathe—can’t breathe—” Her hand fluttered, and she gulped hard, trying to force air into her lungs.
“Easy, there.” His gray eyebrows came down in a worried frown. He put an arm about her waist, edging her toward the carriage. “Just one slow breath.” He sucked in a deep lungful, as if that would help her.
A short pant, and the air stuck in her throat again.
“No, nice and slow.” His chest rose and fell once more.
This time more air got in.
“That’s it. Are you all right? What happened?”
Before she could answer, the door banged open.
She whirled.
Jonathan Kennebrae, guilt written on every inch of his frame, stood in the doorway. “Melissa, wait.”
She clung to Weatherby’s hand. “Get me home, please. I don’t want to talk to him.”
The old man’s eyes clouded with questions, but he obeyed, hustling her to the carriage and handing her inside.
Jonathan hurried down the steps toward her. His hand reached for the carriage door.
“Now, sir, you must be leaving the lady alone. She doesn’t want to see you right now.” Weatherby interposed his frame between Jonathan and the open door. “I’ll have to be asking you to step back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Melissa,” he shouted over the coachman’s shoulder, “if you’ll just listen—” He broke off when Weatherby put his hand against Jonathan’s chest and pushed him back.
Noah clattered down the stairs, blurry in Melissa’s teary vision. “Jonathan, perhaps now isn’t the best time.” He grabbed Jonathan’s elbow. “Or the place.” With a nod he indicated the crowd of onlookers on the sidewalk.
Weatherby glared at both of them as he shut and fastened the carriage door. The carriage lurched and swayed. They were away.
Melissa dug in her bag for her handkerchief, pressing it to her mouth to stifle the sobs bursting from her throat.
She could only nod her thanks to Weatherby when he helped her out on the driveway at Castlebrooke. If only she could get inside without running into Mother.
The butler opened the door. “Good afternoon, miss. And how was your—” His voice broke off, eyes widening at her disheveled appearance.
She shook her head, tight-lipped, and hurried past, not bothering to take off her coat or hat. The route to her bedroom had never seemed so long before. She grabbed her skirts and ran up the stairs and down the hall to her sanctuary like a wounded animal heading to its den to nurse its wounds.
She slipped inside and leaned against the closed door. On wooden limbs she crossed the room and sank into her chair. Her hat tumbled to the floor, rocking gently on its crown. She shivered. The grate in the fireplace was cold since she’d expected to be out all afternoon.
In jerky movements she took off her gloves and unbuttoned her coat, feeling bludgeoned. Automatic motions took over as her mind whirled, refusing to settle on the one thing she must.
He lied.
It stabbed afresh, laying open her heart and dreams. Sobs clogged her throat. She rose and flung herself onto the bed, crying uncontrollably, shoulders shaking, stomach clenching.
Everything. All of it. A lie.
Eventually the crying eased to a series of hiccups and sniffs. She flopped onto her back. A heavy band of tension settled around her forehead. She rubbed her gritty eyes. Every muscle ached, and every heartbeat throbbed with pain.
How could he do this to her? And how gullible was she to believe every word he’d said? What a brilliant plan, to pretend at first to be opposed to the marriage, affronted at the idea of being bartered away by their elders. Then, when she’d come to admire him, pretending he’d fallen in love with her. The flowers, the invitations, allowing the use of his office, the ring. . .
The ring.
She scowled down at the icy blue and white gems. With a sharp tug she yanked it from her finger, scratching her skin in the process. What should she do with it? She’d like to fling it back in his face. Her lips tightened.
The cad.
The satin duvet whispered when she rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. She weighed the ring in her palm for a moment then whipped the token of his love and affection toward the fireplace. It clacked off the mantel and clattered to the hearth.
Lord, how could You do this to me? You promised me hope and a future. Plans that were for my good. He lied to me. All Your plans are dashed. It’s over. Did You lie to me, too?
A tap at the door.
“Go away.”
“Miss, there’s someone to see you. Mr. Jonathan Kennebrae has called.” Sarah.
“I don’t want to see him. Tell him to go away.”
“Miss, he’s most insistent.”
I’ll just bet he is. The charlatan.
“I’m not coming down. He can wait until he’s an old man for all I care.” Melissa thumped the pillows with her fists and buried her face against them. Tears burned her throat.
Footsteps dwindled down the hall. She lay perfectly still, listening, until at last the front door closed.
❧
Jonathan walked as though he dragged the Bethany’s anchor chain with every step. How did a man cope when his worst fears were realized?
Lord, how can this be Your plan? If You can direct rivers in their courses, why can’t You give me a way out of this mess? Is this where I’m supposed to say, “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord?” I’m not feeling that way.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, the cold biting through his suit jacket and shirt. Why hadn’t he put on a coat? A gust of frigid, damp air swirled around him, nipping and numbing his cheeks.
He’d been in too much of a hurry, that’s why. Chasing Melissa, trying to get her to listen to him, grabbing the first cab he could find.
And that supercilious snob they called a butler. Glowering as if he’d like to toss Jonathan out into the street like some mendicant ruffian. And the glare from the maid on the stairs hadn’t helped either.
