A Practical Arrangement (13 page)

“
Nervous to attempt this so soon?” He smiled, dispelling his brooding.

She supposed it brooding, for in truth, she could not know what to think it. Mr. Masterson held within many facets. “I dare to press my luck. Here, if I hold both the railing and your arm I shall achieve success.” Carefully, Evangeline alighted the stairs one at a time, her attention focused on the task until relief washed over her at the final step. “Merry Christmas to me!” she announced with self-congratulatory cheer.

Thomas chuckled. “Ah...Miss Grey, you do harbor a vice after all. Pride.”

Melody and Mr. Lane rounded the corner, their quiet laughter stifled in the company of others. Evangeline's good cheer ebbed and a furious blush roasted her cheeks to a fiery hue.

Act natural and stop blushing like a ninny!

Her inner command offered no help as she continued to flush in mortified
knowing
.

“
Dinner is ready,” Melody laughed. “Hurry! Everyone is waiting. We're going to sing carols after dinner and Father says he has a surprise!”

“
We'll be right along,” Thomas answered, appraising Evangeline with interest.

Too much interest for her sensibilities to endure at present, which only served to heat her to a full blown crimson shade.

“
Evangeline,” Thomas husked, leaning close, “what has you aglow with such a beautiful blush?”

She blinked, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her mind fumbling to locate some string of words to fling at him in answer. Her quick wit failed miserably, for she could conjure no utterance whatsoever.

Thomas only smiled, her silence amusing him further. “Is that so,” he murmured in reply to her speechlessness. “Miss Grey rendered mute.” He brushed his finger across her closed lips in a faint caress. “Pretty though it is, I'll have your secret soon enough.”

Leading them toward the dining room, Thomas squeezed her hand gently, his low chuckle intimating an understanding Evangeline knew certain he lacked. It unnerved her all the same.

Thomas could no longer ignore the shift, however subtle, in his perspective. Miss Grey promised much more than a practical arrangement to solve his dilemma and a challenging diversion to woo and bed. Ever increasing regard grew in his twisted heart. He'd no right to want her, to desire her true affections – nor her body. But his hypocrisy, his depravity, honored no boundary. Inside, the soul he'd denied and buried beneath hedonistic pleasures raised a battle cry, demanding release from its self-imposed prison. The inner conflict waged on, and Thomas feared the outcome. He ceded ground with every encounter, Miss Grey's hidden and tender nature eroding his hardened heart's resolve to merely possess without forming deep attachment.

A fool he was to believe she could truly be his; he destroyed those who dared to love him completely. First his brother in the name of pride, then his father out of his shame, for he could not bear his father's kindness after what he'd done. It had seared his soul in more terrible torture than any physical punishment could inflict. So he'd turned away, indulging in wild behavior, willing his father – all his family – to turn him away as he knew he deserved. They never had.

For the first time in many years Thomas Masterson yearned to be worthy of regard, of respect, of love. Atonement beckoned in the small, plain and prim Miss Evangeline Grey. He would endeavor to earn her; and yes, possess her, body, heart and soul.

* * *

Parents and daughters had exchanged gifts in the early dawn, the simple presents given with love. Even the unpredictable Mrs. Grey was of kindly disposition, Thomas noted with satisfaction. His earlier observation of her cutting remarks toward his soon-to-be bride heated his blood with anger. A more genuine woman he could not confess to knowing. She did not deserve her mother's cruel words. Once they married, Opal Grey would not be permitted such free reign with her tongue.

“
These are lovely, just lovely!” Evangeline stated, running her fingers against the supple buckskin leather of her new gloves in unabashed delight. “Thank you, Father.”

A rare, broad smile graced her usually schooled features, and Thomas vowed to elicit those smiles often in the coming months and years. Each one would he count a reward.

“
My dear, you are quite welcome,” Albert responded warmly. “Now, if there are no objections I'd like to eat.” He chuckled and stood, waiting until his family and guests did likewise. “The heavy snowfall makes travel impossible. Therefore, we shall give thanks at present and read from the Scriptures before the hearth later.”

Feasting around the breakfast table, Thomas left off his pensive brooding, conversing freely.

Chapter Seven

“
Cherry Hill will have a small winter crop to harvest; therefore, it is imperative my spring barley be of the highest quality.” Thomas discussed his plans with Albert openly.

“
You'll need to purchase feed then?”

“
I'll need to supplement, but my Uncle Winston has agreed to supply most of Cherry Hill's need. Money will be no concern.”

“
Do you plan to malt at Cherry Hill?” Albert's tone conveyed surprise.

“
That is my aim. In past years the spring barley was sold to an ale maker for malting, but I've plans to speak with a gentleman about distilling whiskey.”

“
Whiskey, Thomas? But it takes at least three years to turn a profit!” Concern marred Albert's visage. “Three years without income?”

“
Only at Cherry Hill,” Thomas clarified. “I've already the funds at my disposal for set up. With my inheritance and the income from the portion invested, expenses will be covered without the barley profits.”

Albert regarded his future son-in-law sternly. “And if the whiskey does not do well?”

“
The whiskey will do well, Albert. If there's one thing I know, it's good whiskey.” Thomas' lips curved into a determined half-smile. “T. S. Masterson Whiskey.”

Albert chuckled, an odd glint sparkling in his sharp eyes. “Thomas, son, I rather think Grey Masterson Spirits has a nice ring to it.”

Thomas stuttered a moment, confusion evident in his expression. “I do not understand, sir.”

“
That is apparent,” Albert stated wryly. “What I mean to say is this. A venture into the business is a bold, but wise move. Establish your product while the market is small; it will give you an edge.”

“
My thoughts exactly,” Thomas agreed.

“
Although,” Albert added, “you cannot claim it scotch. Perhaps you will decide upon bourbon?”

“
Perhaps. Have you a preference? It seems I've acquired a partner.”

Albert boomed his accord. “Indeed, Thomas.” The older man leaned precariously across his desk. “My daughter shall demand our heads on a platter! Whiskey men! You'd best wed her before revealing your new business venture, my boy. Evangeline will be in fits!” The older man dismissed his use of his daughter's name without thought, for he watched Thomas grow serious.

“
You suppose she will think less of me?” He was dead serious. Breaking into the whiskey business was a solid financial decision, but his ultimate aim remained true. He wanted Evangeline Grey's respect.

“
She'll settle into it. Have no qualms, Thomas. My daughter holds to rigid standards; it's true. But given half a chance to learn the process, she'll come around – and near outshine the both of us in no time!”

“
Join us, of sorts? I cannot imagine!” Thomas doubted the truth of Albert's assessment.

“
My daughter knows a woman cannot hold a front place in business. She'd never behave in such fashion. But she's a good head on her shoulders, solid business sense as well. She'll support you in every way given time.”

Thomas pondered his friend's words a long while, nursing his brandy in the quiet. Doubting himself, his plans! Only a lovesick fool behaved thus. He was a man, and while he
desired the love and respect of Miss Grey, he would hearken to no one. His mind was decided at once.

Whiskey men.

“
I see you brooding plainly, Thomas,” Albert spoke at long last. “Proceed with your plan, but take my advice; make no mention until the time is ripe.”

Silence settled between them again, an easy peaceful one. When Albert finished his spirits he pushed up from the chair. “My daughter...,” his voice trailed off and a heavy sigh escaped him. “Take care of her. Give her...” But Albert let the thought die, unspoken.

Thomas watched as Albert retreated, wondering what exactly the man had been about to say. He wanted to declare he'd do whatever necessary to care for Evangeline; instead he kept his own council. Some thing or event gave her reason to be wary of physical touch. Thomas meant to uncover the source and banish what lurked behind her stern facade.

* * *

Evangeline avoided speaking alone with Mr. Masterson to her utmost ability, certain he'd pry about her vexation of those few nights past.

Bread and butter!

There he was again.

Having only recently harnessed her tumultuous, traitorous imaginings, she dreaded an encounter with the man inspiring the vast majority of her disquieting thoughts.

“
Miss Grey, I'm glad to see you moving about so easily this fine day. Join me.”

She rummaged around for excuse, the window of opportunity gone in a flash.

Bother!

“
Fate conspires against me, Mr. Masterson,” she said honestly. “You need feel no duty to entertain me. I sought the parlor believing it empty.”

“
Yet it is not,” Thomas pointed out. “Are you so disagreeable, then, that you seek sanctuary alone?”

Why his words frustrated her so, she left unexamined. “I am not disagreeable, Mr. Masterson. Merely I lack a desire to entertain, nor to be entertained at present.”

“
Miss Grey,” Thomas laughed, “you are disagreeable. No question about it.”

“
That...that is untrue,” she denied with vigor.

“
Contrary yet again?” His ever-changing eyes shone mischief, golden hints glowing against the soft backdrop of brown and gray currently reigning.

The only way to win, to best him at his own game, required a slice of humility. Evangeline balked at the thought. She'd agree, but under her own terms – none of which brooked one whit of humility. “I stand corrected. Disagreeable it is,” she said smartly, having seen her way to overall victory. “I shall seek solitude to correct my mood. Good day to you.”

Freedom! A smug and satisfied smile blossomed, and with her footfalls carrying her away, Evangeline did not fight the display.

“
Nonsense, Miss Grey. I shall dispel your poor mood.”

Her smile quickly faded, replaced with a defeated frown. “Surely you cannot wish to be subjugated to my ill-tempered state. Perhaps later.”

“
Evangeline,” Thomas addressed firmly, “come here.”

She whipped around to face him, eyes narrowed with little concealed wrath. “I insist you stop calling me by my given name. It is unseemly and suggests a familiarity quite non-existent.”

Thomas stood, his gaze commanding, consuming.

My! He was impressive when he looked upon her so!

“
Do not make me say it again,
Evangeline
.”

Against all good sense, she complied, her will to resist bent before her foolish heart. Granting her will one bit of defiance, she stopped short of closing the gap completely. The small semblance of control she maintained did offer consolation, and she peered directly at his face. Such folly! Golden flecks blazed amid the molten steel backdrop in his eyes, singeing her vellum resolve to ashes.

“
Much better,” he husked approvingly.

Oddly, his approval gave her pleasure, the truth raising a deep flush upon her flesh.

“
There are matters we must discuss.”

Her flush deepened, even as her heart sank. They would come now, his dictates. He'd made plain his intention to possess her body. Instead, she wished him desire her heart. Oh! Her foolishness knew no bounds! His way would be better, perhaps not for her heart, but for her peace of mind. “You have my attention, Mr. Masterson.” Carefully she chose her words, for to appear overeager would cause her to suffer his amusement – or worse, his pity. To show indifference was cruel. And a lie. Evangeline opted for cautious interest, at least she hoped her expression conveyed such. Frankly, she'd little experience in the arts of courtship, or engagements, or much anything having to do with men.

“
What are you thinking, Miss Grey?”

Immediately, she averted her gaze and went still.

“
Tell me.” It was not a request, yet was delivered gently.

Why could he not say what he intended and be done with it? A pang of tenderness sprouted for her mother, her own discontent forging understanding where before there had been none. Tucking the revelation away, she counted to ten and answered. “I wonder, Mr. Masterson, whether we shall, indeed, discuss matters, or if you shall merely impart your wishes and await my acknowledgment of the way our life shall be governed.”

Thomas' piercing gaze forced her to look away again; she could not face the anger afire in those quicksilver eyes.