The Cavalier, page 11
“The way I see it, you only have two real options. You either break things off with Thomas Gordon and therefore fail to fulfill the terms of the will, or you take the more prudent path. Renounce your claim to the will and keep your little fairy tale alive.” He paused a moment, allowing his words to sink in before fixing her with his most sinister gaze. “Of course, there is a third option, but if you lose, that one will leave you penniless in the streets.”
His arguments were sound, and the fear in her eyes told him that they had indeed made the impression he hoped they would. Having finished his pitch, all he really had to do was sit back and wait as she considered which of the two options she would choose. As he studied her, he could already see the additional figures being written into the ledger book and his bank account that would come from the inherited mining interests. He would be positioned as one of the most powerful and influential men in America. From that position, he’d be able to not only cover up his late father’s indiscretions, but several of his own as well.
What had occurred in New Orleans as well as in Cleveland would stay a secret, as long as he was able to continue paying for the silence of those who had been involved. While his interests in Cleveland were already paying off, those in New Orleans might be the other feather in his financial cap, but as long as there was a nasty little secret hanging around, he would never be able to rest easy.
“I see,” she finally responded. Her voice was weak, and her eyes revealed her defeat. “How much time do I have to make a decision?”
“I believe that 48 hours is more than generous... given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“I’ve already lost a great deal of time and resources in pursuit of this matter.”
“I see.”
She could not even look at him any longer. His victory had been too easy. He shifted to a sympathetic tone as though he was speaking to his grandmother on her deathbed. “I would think that sending a wire to Mr. Dennison renouncing your claim to the inheritance would be the quickest and easiest way to set yourself free. Why prolong it with a messy breakup? For that matter, why ruin a good thing? You’ll still have your dignity and your position here.”
“How do I know that you won’t double-cross me?”
There was a hint of a fight still left in her. Perhaps his father’s blood did flow through her veins. If it did, it was certainly a diluted version; red, not blue. “On my word of honor, if you renounce your claim, I will tell no one about your Philadelphia origins.”
“And if I break things off with Thomas?”
She was smarter than he had thought. She had caught his omission. He chuckled softly. “That will take a great deal longer to resolve, but I will still hold up my end of the bargain.”
Though he was enjoying the powerful thrill of watching her shrink in front of him, he rose from his chair in her office and proceeded toward the door, punctuating his last statement in a very definitive way.
“I expect a word from either Mr. Dennison or from yourself concerning your decision. You can have a message sent to the Palace Hotel if you like. I see no reason for us to have another uncomfortable conversation.” He turned on the doorstep outside the Emilia Ashley Finishing School and looked back at her to watch her squirm one last time.
“I will send a message,” she replied, closing the door behind him. She really had not been thrilled about the inheritance from Reginald Sinclaire, had often dismissed it as something that was totally unnecessary. However, the sleazy, arrogant manner of Dillon Sinclaire had stirred up a small sliver of rebellion that the London Finishing School for Young Ladies had never managed to eliminate entirely. Suddenly, something of the grit she’d inherited from her mother began to rise to the surface. And, like it always did, her anger made her want to cry.
Chapter Seventeen
“Child, I don’t believe that man’s word of honor is any better than the quivering tail of a rattlesnake.” Nanna wasn’t one to mince words when she dished out advice.
“But what am I to do, Nanna?” Emily had been fighting down the tears that had threatened to spill over the rims of her eyes since she had first heard the fateful announcement of Dillon Sinclaire and his intention to challenge her legitimate claim to the will. They were a mixture of frustration as well as anger.
“Things have a way of turning up differently than you expect them to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Nanna’s advice was often cryptic.
“That means that you'd best cut the head off of the snake rather than trust it.”
“But I can’t fight him. All he has to do is tell Hillary Gordon the truth about my past, and I’m ruined.”
“Child, if your life depends on hiding behind a secret, you’re better off being snake-bit.”
“Nanna! Stop, please. Give me a straight answer. Tell me what to do.”
“Child, you are well past the age of having me tell you what to do.”
“Okay, then, if you were in my shoes, what would you do?”
“I’d go on teaching these girls how to be proper ladies. I’d go on spreading every bit of wisdom that I’d picked up throughout the 21 years of my life, including what I learned before I went away to London, and I’d find a way to cut the head off of that snake.”
“How do I destroy Dillon Sinclaire?”
“I didn’t tell you to do that.”
“But you told me to cut the head off of the snake.”
“Yes, I did, but I didn’t say that Mister Sinclaire was the snake.”
There wasn’t any sense in discussing things further with Nanna. Not only was her advice cryptic, but once she’d said her piece, she clammed up and headed off to tend to some urgent chore that needed to be taken care of in a house that lodged, fed, and kept 8 adolescent girls smartly clothed.
Nanna didn’t do all of the tasks of the household by herself, but she was in charge of the other three employees who helped make things function in tip-top form at the Emilia Ashley Finishing School. With cooking, cleaning and laundry to tend to, Nanna spent most of her time doing what she did best in the kitchen, but she kept the others hopping, including the man who tended to the maintenance of the place, and on rare occasions, drove the horse and buggy for Emily whenever she ventured out alone.
Most of the time, Emily was not present at dinner in the house, but was sent for by Thomas Gordon and spent her evenings in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. Following her conversation with Nanna, she turned toward her room in expectation of the arrival of Gordon's driver to take her to dinner.
With that task to tend to, she was unable to give way to the tears that had still not found a way to spill over the rims of her eyes. In truth, Emily had found it very difficult to shed any tears since she had cried herself out following the death of her mother.
The announcement she was waiting for came almost on cue, and she made the few last-minute adjustments necessary for presenting herself in the Gordon’s household. She called out her goodbye to Nanna, slipped out the door, and closed it behind her.
“You’re not exactly yourself tonight, Emily.” Thomas had picked up on her subdued mood during dinner, but had waited until they were alone together to bring it up. “Is something wrong?”
She had tried to act normal, but with the threat of Dillon Sinclaire hanging over her head, it felt like she had already been exposed to the entire world. She had to come up with something fast. “I’m just a little bit worried, is all.”
“My dear, what do you have to be worried about?”
“The school.” She filled in quickly.
“Why would you worry about the school? Everything is running well and you are nearly to capacity. Besides, there is really no need to continue with it after the wedding, so why worry over it?”
He had provided her with the conversation she needed in order to avoid what was really on her mind, and she jumped on it. “That’s just it,” she began. “I want the school to do well. I don’t want to fold it all up and stay at home all day. I enjoy teaching the girls. I want to keep it going and not close it down.”
“Then you don’t have to close it down. You can control the interests in it and have someone else do the work.” He was thinking like a businessman. “Leverage your time and simply collect the profits.”
“It isn’t the profits that thrill me, Thomas, don’t you understand?” Though she was avoiding the real subject, she allowed the tears that had been threatening all afternoon to trail down her cheeks. “I am truly fond of those girls and of their future. Besides, what would I do in a big, empty house alone?”
“Ah, darling,” Thomas was startled by her show of emotion. “Our home will hardly be empty. We’ll have housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and the like for you to supervise.”
“You’re not hearing me, Thomas,” she murmured.
“Oh, my dear,” he said, backtracking a bit. “I didn’t realize that you felt so strongly about it. Why, I had just assumed that you wouldn’t want to continue working once we’re married.”
“It’s just... I don’t know... the house and the school are the only things that I can call my own. It’s all that I have left, you know. It was sort of a promise to my mother and father to make something of myself, and that is what I’ve done.”
“Make something of yourself? Emily, once you have married into the Gordon family, you will have made something of yourself, you’ll be a Gordon.” He wrinkled his brow, trying to understand how a small finishing school for girls could be considered making something of oneself. “You’re already well thought of and respected, and we’re only just engaged. The reason that your little school is doing as well as it is, is a reflection of the fact that you have gained the respect and adoration of the families in the area. You already have their approval as Missus Thomas Gordon the Third.”
Emily knew that such logic was the way of the world in which the Gordons lived. To be someone’s wife, especially someone of importance, was supposed to be the highest achievement for any woman. It is what the London Finishing School for Young Ladies had taught her as well. She had bought into their teaching, investing herself in it entirely.
On the other hand, she couldn’t help admiring her mother. As ugly as her mother’s business was, it was still a business that she had built up from nothing, operated well, and expanded into making a significant profit. She admired what her mother had built, even if she detested the form of it. Her mother had provided a service. She might have married well and taken up housekeeping, but she had chosen to be free and to build something that she could call her own. She wanted Emily to do the same.
She realized that she needed a way out of her conversation with Thomas. It was going nowhere, and pressing her point would accomplish nothing.
“You’re right, of course, Thomas.” She really wanted to be alone so that she could think through what she was going to do. “Actually, I’m just a little bit under the weather. I got a chill today.” The last statement wasn’t far from the truth. Dillon Sinclaire had certainly given her a chill. However, in San Francisco, catching a chill from the fog coming in off the bay was not an uncommon thing, so the excuse was easily accepted.
“Of course you did, that blasted fog, it will be the death of you yet.” Thomas immediately slipped out of his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. At times, when he wasn’t thinking of business or defending his mother, he was a decent gentleman. “Perhaps we should get you up to a room and call in a doctor.”
“Thank you, love, but I don’t think I need all that.” He was going to spoil her time alone. “I think I just need to retire early and get a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”
“You’re certain?” He looked deep into her eyes, trying to read the truth in them. “It would be no trouble at all, and mother would be here to look in on you.”
The thought of Hillary Gordon looking in on her spurred her to move more quickly at dismissing herself. “I think I’ll do better in my own bed. Can you get Arthur to take me home? A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain.”
“I suppose.” He wasn’t quite letting go of it all. “On one condition.”
“One condition?” she asked. She really didn’t feel like fulfilling any conditions.
“You must promise to let the doctor come see you,” he smiled.
It was the best that she could hope to gain out of the situation. “I promise.”
“Very good, we’ll get you on your way immediately, then.”
Thomas was true to his word. It was only a few minutes before she was tucked into the buggy, packed in until she could hardly move with blankets. In less than ten minutes, she and the driver were struggling to get her unraveled so that she could get down from the surrey and go into her house.
She had hoped to avoid contact with anyone when she arrived, but with the doctor quickly following on her heels, she had little chance of escaping the inevitable. With Nanna running the household, things were going to be tended to, and she was going to be in the middle of them. When she had a moment, she whispered to Nanna. “I’m really not sick. Just an excuse to get away from the Gordons.”
Nanna shook her head, smiled, and then continued playing her role for the doctor. When the doctor left and things settled down, Nanna brought her a cup of tea, took a seat on the edge of her bed, and took hold of her hand.
“Everything is going to work out, child.” The steady confidence in her eyes made Emily actually believe her.
Chapter Eighteen
Dillon Sinclaire wasn’t particularly concerned about keeping his end of the bargain he had struck with his father’s illegitimate daughter. He was more interested in destroying her than simply preventing her from inheriting his gold claim in Bear Valley.
It had been less than 24 hours after his meeting with Emilia when he arranged the meeting with Thomas and Hillary Gordon. He was fastening the last button on his jacket when Hansen called to let him know that the driver was waiting.
Though he wasn’t particularly concerned about whether or not the driver had to wait, Dillon was eager to be tending to the mischief that he had planned for Emilia Ashley. He took down his hat and cracked a crooked smile meant for his image in the mirror. He set the derby hat at a particular angle atop his head. I am a rather dashing gentleman. With the compliment well directed and received, he turned away from his image in the mirror and followed Hansen downstairs to the waiting surrey.
“Hansen, the gentleman I spoke with before we boarded the train in Colfax the other day. Do you remember him?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Arrange to have him here by the time I return.”
“Is he still in Colfax, sir?”
“No. He and his two brothers are here in San Francisco,” he said as he settled into the seat of the surrey. “You can contact him at a hotel on the wharf. I believe the name is Gold... something.”
“I’ll find it and I will have them here.”
“Very well, let’s be on our way, then,” he said in a casual tone, addressing the driver.
The driver had gotten used to the casual way that Sinclaire gave his orders. Particularly after he had been “put in his place,” the very first time that he had missed an order that had been hidden within casual conversation. When he heard Sinclaire’s quiet voice give the order, he started the horse immediately.
Sinclaire had caught a glimpse of the Pinkerton agent, even though he was doing his best to go unnoticed. His presence worried him. Why was the man still in San Francisco? It had been a couple of days since the agent had dismissed himself, and he ought to have gone back to Philadelphia. Seeing the agent trailing him and keeping tabs on him made him wonder if something concerning Cleveland or New Orleans had somehow leaked out.
Was he under investigation? He doubted it. He had paid well for silence in New Orleans, and he was sure that his money was doing its job. If he had, in some quite miraculous way, found out about the O’Leary brothers, it was impossible for them to be connected to him or with the incidents in Cleveland and New Orleans. It was much more likely that the agent had struck an interest in Emilia Ashley. Although she was a whore’s daughter, she was a very attractive woman. No matter, the O’Leary brothers had always been quite eager to accept his cash; they could deal with the inconvenience.
When Dillon Sinclaire pulled up in front of the club where he was to meet Hillary and Thomas Gordon the Third for lunch, there was a scurry of activity from the staff as they made certain that all of his directives were quickly followed. Word had gotten out that Mister Sinclaire was a man of particular importance; something that Dillon had also arranged in order to make a greater impression upon the Gordons.
He was shown to the Gordons’ table, and the pair stood as he approached.
“Mister Sinclaire,” Thomas Gordon beamed, extending his hand toward the distinguished gentleman. “Thank you for taking a portion of your time to come and meet with us. It is an honor to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is indeed mine,” he bowed humbly as he shook the extended hand.
“Let me present my mother, Missus Thomas Gordon the Second.”
“Charmed, indeed,” Hillary Gordon said, grasping the fingers of his proffered hand and receiving a delicate kiss on the back of it from the lips of Dillon Sinclaire.
“This is a great honor, Missus Gordon. You are far lovelier than your description.”
“Please, call me Hillary,” she purred.
“Join us, if you would, please.” Thomas directed Dillon toward a chair at their table.
When Sinclaire hesitated and looked around, two attendants quickly rushed to take his hat and help him out of his coat. They pulled out his chair for him, and they made certain that he was comfortable before scurrying away. Seated, he placed his elbows on the table in order to make a tent with his fingers and then leaned in with a labored expression on his face.
“I...” He sighed heavily and glanced at each of the Gordons in turn, drawing a very somber look from each before he continued. In a very low tone, which caused them to draw in closer, he began to speak. “I’m not sure where to start. I have some rather bad news.”
