My Dear Miss Dupré, page 15
Willow bit her lip, glancing at the headline: Sugar Queen Bestows Kiss upon Devotee Favorite. Willow inwardly cringed, knowing Mother was right. She raised her lashes to the looking glass of her vanity to see Nicolette putting the finishing touches on her hair for yachting with Kit Quincy. She won’t breathe a word of this downstairs. She called forth her courage and twisted in her seat, grabbing the back of the chair and admitting slowly, “It was only one kiss.”
Mother expelled her breath and sank onto the settee, reaching for Willow’s tea service. “That should have been saved for a private moment, or at least for your fiancé.” Mother clicked her tongue. “Truly, Willow. Have I taught you nothing?”
Willow ran her finger along the rim of the cup atop her vanity, keeping her focus on the painted gold, knowing Mother was glaring at her in the looking glass’s reflection. “Pardon me for saying so, but what did you expect would happen when you and Father wish for me to court so many men at once? And as for word getting out about the kiss, I have warned the men again and again not to breathe a word of this competition to the press, and yet you and Father seemed more than happy about all the publicity that this has brought about for the sake of our standing in society and in turn our business.”
Mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, of course we were happy, but, Willow, did you really have to kiss a beau in town?”
“Perhaps you are correct. Even so, if I do not allow a kiss to happen between myself and someone I am seriously considering when the moment is right, how am I supposed to know if there is a spark?”
Mother laughed sharply. “I never thought I would say this to you of all my daughters, but you have read too many of my romance novels.” She set her cup in her saucer, her scowl replaced with a soft smile.
Willow joined her mother at this, the newspaper in one hand, her teacup in the other. “Well, you did give the novels to me.”
Mother poured her a second cup, watching the steam curl upward before she spoke. “My dear girl, if the right beau so much as kisses your hand, there won’t be any spark. There will be a current pulsating from your hand directly to your heart. So, you do not need to go about kissing fellows left and right to find out. Consider the heartbreak you are giving to these gentlemen by your actions.”
“Flora told me the same.” Willow twisted her hands, regretting that she had waited until midnight to seek her friend out and apologize. She would have to make it up to Flora upon her return to Newport.
“Wise girl.” Mother lifted the paper from Willow’s grasp. “In any event, I think it might be time we find the informant. This article is too detailed for it to simply have been wired to New York. This was written here and sent by courier.”
“Whoever it was has made this process far more difficult than needed, but we do not control where the men go when they are not on an outing with me. Teddy was in town yesterday, along with Cullen, and I have complete confidence in them.”
Mother turned to the maid, who was tidying up now. “Nicolette? Have we hired anyone new? Someone who would not have a sense of loyalty to the family yet?”
Nicolette paused in gathering Willow’s nightclothes. “We have hired a new scullery maid, but she is the daughter of the cook and looks up to the family as if you all were royals.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Willow met Mother’s gaze. It would have been particularly hard if one of their own had turned on them. “We’ll have to go down and meet her after dinner.”
Nicolette grinned. “She would faint for sure.” Her smile faded. “But, now that you have brought up the subject of a possible informant, I feel compelled to tell you that the maids have been speaking about the contents of Mr. Digory Pruett’s chamber.”
Mother snapped to attention. “What have they found?”
Nicolette twisted her hands beneath the pile of fine clothes.
Willow rose, resting a hand on Mother’s shoulder. “They will not be punished for gossiping. Please, tell us. I need to know. This is my future and my family’s livelihood.”
“The maids found a journal, piles of telegrams, and . . .” Nicolette paused as if unwilling to continue.
“And what?” Mother leaned forward.
“They didn’t mean to snoop.” The maid dipped her head. “They were making the bed when one of them found a portfolio hidden underneath, and, uh, they dropped it and scattered dozens of clipped articles, all about Miss Willow and the competition.”
“I see.” Mother pursed her lips. “That does seem rather incriminating, for who else but the author would wish to keep them?”
“Well, until we know more, I do not think we should go charging at Mr. Pruett, demanding answers. For if it is not the case . . .” Willow paused as an equally horrible thought occurred to her. What if it wasn’t him and there was another in their midst who had ill will toward her? And what if I am already falling in love with him? She straightened her shoulders and gave her maid a reassuring pat on the arm. “Thank you, Nicolette. You have potentially saved me from heartbreak and future scandal. Please inform the other maids that while I do not generally condone snooping, in this instance I am relieved they did so even if it was by accident. They have no need to fear any repercussions. I am grateful for their loyalty to me and my family. Will you please have one of them fetch the papers for me after they clean Mr. Pruett’s chamber? I will think of how to handle it upon my return with Mr. Quincy.”
“Certainly, miss.” Nicolette curtsied and hurried out to do her bidding.
“Such a breach in etiquette to take from a guest’s room, but I fear it cannot be helped.” Mother rubbed her forehead. “If only your father were here to handle this.”
“He’s gone?”
“Yes. He received a telegram from your cousin last night and left early this morning on the first train out with Flora. Your father is calling an emergency meeting with the board to discuss the company’s future.”
“Without me?” Willow’s voice rose. “I should pack. This business with Mr. Pruett will keep until I return. Father’s health is too delicate—”
“While I agree with you, your father insisted on going alone and that you stay and focus on your men.”
“What has happened?” She gripped Mother’s arm and sank down beside her, bracing herself for the worst.
“Osborne has returned to New York. He hasn’t been back since . . .” Mother’s gaze flicked to the door left ajar.
“Since he turned the board against me after Father’s heart attack and nearly convinced all to sell their shares to Wellington,” Willow finished quietly. “Nothing good ever comes from Osborne Dupré becoming suddenly interested in the business.”
“Which is why your father left, even though you are courting seven gentlemen, to deal with your ungrateful parasite of a cousin.” Mother picked at her nail bed as she always did when she was nervous. “After what Osborne did, I am surprised that he is daring to show his face around your father, but I suppose your little exploit in the shop gave him the courage he needed to try to take action once more with the board.”
Willow buried her face in her hands and groaned at her stupidity. How could she have given in to such a moment of weakness? The board already hated her because she was a woman, and this—this could seal her fate. “And if the board agrees with him . . .”
Mother rose and began pacing the room. “They won’t, not while your father has breath in his lungs. Perhaps he can finally convince them to sell to him and be done with this whole wretched threat of Wellington’s.”
“It will take more than an offer from Father. They know how much we want those shares and how much Wellington will pay for them. I doubt we could sell enough assets within the week to cover the amount he would offer. Until this next sugar run, the majority of our fortune is tied up in stocks, the factory, the next shipments, and our residences.” Willow fidgeted with the lace at her cuff. “I kept enough aside to purchase the new factory in Paris and I would surrender the money in a heartbeat rather than relinquish those shares to Wellington. But, the question remains, is it enough?”
“Osborne’s arrival could not be timed more poorly for us. We are always at our weakest in this season, especially after our inexplicably slow year.” Mother shook her head, groaning. “I told your father not to invest so heavily and to keep cash on hand. But no. He says it takes money and risk to make money.”
“Which is why Osborne is moving in now. He must have heard about Father’s latest investment.” Willow twisted her hands in her lap. “I can sell my jewels. We could even sell this place if Father is willing, although we would be hard put to sell it at a fair price given the timeline.”
“Sell Aisling Manor?” Mother’s voice cracked. “Never. Your father and I built this place when you were a child. I would rather sell our home in New York before I part with this.” Mother rubbed her temples. “We have simply stretched ourselves too thin for a buyout at the moment.”
“Which I will do as soon as we rebuild our equity. No matter the cost.”
Digory sank into the wing-back chair across from Cullen’s place beside the library’s fireplace and sighed. Cullen glanced up from his newspaper, giving it a little snap and returning his focus to an article on Wellington, hoping Digory would take the hint and try not to satiate his ever-present need to talk.
“I wish you could have seen how much I outshined poor Kit yesterday over our billiards competition with Willow, and without even trying.” He gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “Willow put on an impressive show, though, and I must admit it made me like her even more.”
Cullen shifted in his chair and snapped the paper again, then reached for his cup of coffee on the side table.
“So, I might steal a kiss on our next outing. But I’ll have to wait until she gets back from her day of yachting, which I suppose is one of the many downsides of competing against so many for her attention.”
At this, Cullen folded his paper and rose, abandoning all hope of reading his paper in peace. “I would prefer you would refrain from such things as stealing, Mr. Pruett.” He glared at him and joined Fritz, Archie, and Theodore at the card table, when the sounds of giggling turned his attention to the door, where Philomena and Sybil stood, hands to their mouths, focused on Digory.
“Steal a kiss? You think Will likes you?” Sybil bounded to Digory’s side of the couch.
His shifted away from her paint-stained fingers, offering them a smile that betrayed his annoyance. “Shouldn’t you two be in the nursery?”
“Of course not. We are twelve.” Philomena rolled her eyes. “We were passing and heard your ridiculous claim, and because we are nice, we have decided to warn you. Do not try kissing our sister. Mother just told her that she shouldn’t do that with anyone but her fiancé.”
“And we know you are not he,” interjected Sybil, not in an unkind manner but as if it were only a matter of fact.
Cullen counted out the cards, swallowing back his amusement.
“Don’t you have someone else you could bother?” Pruett snapped, getting to his feet and brushing off his sleeve where Sybil had brushed against him, the hurt in her face plain.
“Don’t be rude, Pruett. You best remember that you are staying in their home.” Cullen threw down his cards, the men rising, protesting with him. Cullen strode over to the girls and bowed, extending an arm to each. “Excuse his manners, my ladies. I, for one, am honored you decided to join us. I was hoping for a bit of diversion. Would you like to take me for a drive in your pony cart to town? I need to visit the sweet shop, and I would love your help in selecting the best sweets for my sweetheart and her sisters.”
At their eager nodding, he threaded their hands through his arms. “Let’s go ask your mother first and then we shall be off.”
Permission secured and pony cart summoned, the three headed out the front door. But when Cullen lifted Phil into the cart, he found a scowl in place. “I am sorry Mr. Pruett was so uncouth. Do you want me to punch him for you?” he asked in a playful manner, though secretly he wished to throttle the man for being so cruel to the kindhearted twins.
“Thank you, Mr. Dempsey, but Sybil and I can take it from here.” She leaned over to her twin and began whispering away, and Cullen did not envy whatever they had in store for Pruett.
Cullen snapped the reins, enjoying the novelty of riding in a pony cart with the twins. The two reminded him so much of Willow, he felt as if he were receiving a glance into her childhood. They did not even have a chance to become cold before they arrived at the sweet shop. As Cullen tethered the horses, he noticed Agent Flannery leaning against the doorframe of the post office across the street twenty paces away.
“You ladies go inside. I’ll be right behind you. Please be certain to find something that Willow will enjoy.” The girls scurried inside before the instructions had left Cullen’s mouth, and he turned to face Flannery strolling toward him.
“Wellington is getting anxious.” Agent Flannery rubbed the pony’s nose as if he were having a casual conversation with Cullen. “Do you have anything that might keep him content instead of cutting you and your future loose?”
Cullen shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I do, but it might be too precious to share.”
The agent scowled, pausing in his patting the horse. “What is it?”
The words stuck in his throat. He could trust Flannery, couldn’t he? “Information on Dupré Sucré’s next big move—a factory in Paris.”
Flannery’s brows rose, and he gave Cullen the first signs of a smile that he had ever witnessed from the agent. “That’s good. And you don’t want to give this up because . . . ?”
“Because it is Miss Dupré’s dream.” Cullen glanced over his shoulder toward the shop’s window, seeing the twins pointing to candies on the shelves behind the proprietor. “If only I could warn her, tell her what I am about—”
Flannery’s scowl returned from beneath his bowler hat. “You cannot risk her dismissing you.”
Cullen shrugged. “I don’t think she would if I tell her everything.”
“And risk everything? Look, it’s not just your family and your business on the line. Wellington has hurt thousands and deserves to spend the rest of his days behind bars for his crimes.” Flannery crossed his arms. “My sister married one of his factory workers, and within a year of living in Wellington’s overpriced slums, she was dead. His tenancies are deathtraps for anyone with weak lungs. Only the hardiest survive past fifty.”
Cullen bit the inside of his mouth and nodded. Of course, Flannery had skin in the game. He knew firsthand the manipulation of Wellington. At first, he made you feel understood and valued, and then, once you were indebted to him, his talons would sink deep and never release their hold until you had given him everything he wanted from you in the first place. What does Wellington have over his factory workers to keep them there? “My sincerest condolences for your loss and I understand, truly I do. But, if I wait too much longer to tell her, there could be no recovery.”
“I don’t want your condolences. Write Wellington, keep quiet, and save our people from this madman.”
Cullen bowed his head. “Very well.” But as he spoke the words, he felt the pull between himself and Willow fray. Lord, help her forgive me for this. And please, let there be a way I can tell her everything . . . before it is too late.
Kit guided the yacht to her family’s dock with remarkable ease. Judging from his expertise, he probably did not even need the two crewmen to work the lines and sails. She gripped the straw brim of her boating hat to keep it in place in the wind, studying him. Kit had shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves after an hour of working. She admired his tanned, corded arms. If the other men had witnessed Kit’s sailing today, she was certain they would no longer tease him for his age. “How old are you, Kit?” she called to where he stood behind the polished wheel.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Am I showing my age?”
“Not at all.” She bit her lip for her blunder. “I was merely thinking that the others would be jealous of your skill.”
“I was twenty-five the first time we met.”
That day was etched in her girlhood heart for all eternity. “Thirty-seven is hardly old, sir.”
“For a young lady, yes, it is. Especially when a young lady has half a dozen suitors to choose from to marry.” He motioned for a crewman to take over at the helm. Wiping his brow with the back of his forearm, he took a seat on the plaid beside Willow and reached for a bottle of water and uncorked it, pouring a full glass and downing it before continuing. “I know our age difference does not appear to be much now, but if you think ahead, you will realize that one day, you will be married to a man in his seventies and you will be in your fifties. Do you really want to be a nursemaid to your husband when you should be running your business, hosting parties, and chasing grandchildren?”
She took a sip of her own water at the mention of children. “I doubt that would happen.” She gestured to him. “You are in better shape than most young men.”
He shrugged. “It could happen, though, if I fell ill. And what of having a husband who will in all likelihood perish before you, leaving you a widow for a decade, perhaps longer?”
She grasped his hand to cease his flow of reasons why they should part. She was not ready to release him, not while the memories of young Willow’s love still lingered in her heart. “Those things do not matter to me.”
He stroked back a stray lock of her hair that had escaped her braided coiffure. “Do not be blinded by my show of strength today. Perhaps it was unfair to demonstrate my skills in sailing in hopes of winning your admiration. No, my dear, you must consider carefully and decide which future you wish to live. A long, happy marriage with, let’s say, a childhood best friend? Or a shorter yet still marvelously happy life with an older man?”
As the crewmen dropped anchor, Kit hitched himself up and helped her to standing, then saw her safely out of the yacht before taking her up the cliff walk to her home in silence.
