An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (25 page)

Colin straightened his sleeves and retrieved his coat from a nearby chair. Thankfully he made a habit of making himself presentable even when he had no intention of seeing anyone. He grazed his hand over the Bible on the desk as if it were a touchstone and closed his eyes, unsure what he was hoping God would do but needing the reassurance that He had some sort of plan.

As Colin stepped from the study, his heartbeat had calmed, but his mind still spun with scenarios of what would happen when he got to the drawing room. The endless number of options made it impossible for his thoughts to land on any one idea for long. It was enough to make him dizzy, but at least he could be grateful for one thing. For the next hour he wouldn’t be thinking of Lady Georgina.

Within a quarter of an hour of his father’s arrival, two things occurred to Colin. One, his skill for planning multiple steps ahead had not come from his father, who seemed to have shown up on Colin’s doorstep on impulse, and two, not only was he going to agree to find Alastair a manager—he was going to take the job himself.

Somewhere between Jaime McCrae’s stiff greeting and their shared consumption of half a pot of tea, Colin had settled on the fact that it was time to go home. Time to see his family. Time to do something about starting one of his own. Time to see if he could make a go of something more solid than a handful of investments and stock trades that could be gotten out of when the going got tough.

Colin watched the older man across from him stare down into his tea. Did his father have a purpose to his visit? Was he ready to mend things? In hopes of getting a meaningful conversation started, he asked, “Is the
Raven
still scheduled to come through London in a few weeks?”

Jaime’s shaggy eyebrows lowered into a frown. “What do you know of the
Raven
?”

Colin took a long, slow sip of tea while he considered his fa
ther’s reaction. The
Raven
wasn’t carrying anything sensitive or even all that unusual. She was loaded to the deck with tea and spices. Colin had received the report on her just last week. “I read the reports I’m sent.”

“Those are owner’s reports.” The gruff mumble caught Colin off guard. Was his father refusing to acknowledge the fact that Colin owned one quarter of the company?

“I’m aware of what they are.” He regretted the ice that lined his words, but Jaime—for Colin wasn’t sure he was willing to call him Father at the moment—deserved a bit of coldness for the way he was acting in Colin’s home. Jaime wasn’t even going to acknowledge Colin owned part of the company due to Jaime’s folly. Did he feel any remorse for it, even knowing the ramifications of five years? The essential loss of his son?

The lingering hope Colin had of returning to the family company floated away. He hadn’t even realized he’d been harboring such a hope, but he let it go with more sadness than he would have expected.

“This is good tea.” Jaime poured himself another cup. It was the third time one of them had commented on the tea. They’d also covered the changeability of weather and the annoyance of traffic. Inane topics covered in drawing rooms all over the city. Usually between mere acquaintances, though, not family.

“How is Mother?” Colin finally asked. He might as well get some benefit from this awkward visit. News of his family would do. The discussion might even ease open the door to talk about whatever had truly brought his father here.

“Do you mean to take me out of business?”

Well, that door opened considerably faster than Colin had anticipated. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you team up with Alastair, he won’t let you keep working with Celestial. Are you going to run me out of business by taking your portion of my company over to him?” Father plunked the cup on the saucer and shoved the set across the side table.

Colin swallowed. There were so many things wrong with Jaime’s
statement that Colin didn’t know where to start. “Why would you think I would do that?”

“It’s what ye’ve been wanting, isn’t it?” His father’s thick brogue was tinged with anger, and perhaps a bit of desperation. “For the past five years ye’ve been looking for a way to pay me back.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort.” Although the thought had crossed his mind once or twice, the knowledge that ruining his father would ruin his mother and sister as well had always stayed his hand.

Jaime pushed from the seat and began to pace the room. “What do you call that move you made three years ago, sending word to my manager that he was to set two ships on the trade route to Jamaica?”

“I call it shrewd business sense. We’ve both profited from that decision.” Colin sipped his tea, even though nothing but dregs remained in the cup.

“But the order didn’t come from me.”

“No one knows that.” Colin made sure all of his ideas went through the main office of the shipping company. If the manager agreed with the idea, he made it happen. If he didn’t, he claimed that Jaime’s greater share of ownership had overruled Colin. Only the manager knew what instructions originated from Colin and what came from Jaime.

“But I know.” Jaime dropped into his seat. “Tell me what you mean to do.”

Colin lifted a brow. Had his father always been this paranoid? This unstable? Mother’s letters always made it sound as if life was going well for them, but was she covering up the truth? “I mean to go on as I have been for the past five years.”

The curl of his father’s lip showed what he thought of Colin’s activities. “Dabbling in your little investments?”

“Setting aside enough money to care for Mother and Bronwyn should you wager the business away on a hand of cards again.” Colin set aside his cup and rose, taking a moment to smooth his jacket and waistcoat.

The angry man stood as well, bracing his legs as if Colin’s drawing room were the deck of a ship. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Colin lifted a single brow, hoping he looked like Ryland. This was the kind of situation the man excelled in, cutting through emotional fronts to lay the man behind them low. It didn’t seem to have any effect on Jaime.

“You’d like me to be proven the irresponsible wastrel you believe me to be. It was one time. I’ve only wagered as such one time.” The man looked down with a wistful half smile. “I’d never had a hand so pretty.”

“Alastair’s was prettier.”

His father looked up. “But not as pretty as yours.”

“For which I thank the Lord daily.” Colin looked his father in the eye, trying to dig in his own soul to find the forgiveness he knew God wanted him to extend. He couldn’t find it. “Why did you do it?”

Eyelids wrinkled and lined from years on the sea slid closed over sad blue eyes. Jaime aged before Colin’s eyes, the anger seeping out along with what seemed to remain of the old man’s strength. “It doesn’t matter.” He sank back into his chair. The look on his face was resigned as the eyes opened once more. “You’ve done well for yourself. Living all fancy in London, like a proper gentleman.”

Colin considered throwing the teacup. Didn’t Jaime owe him some answers after all these years? Colin wanted to lash out, demand that the old seaman explain what he’d been thinking, why he’d been willing to take such a risk, even if on a pretty hand of cards.

Before Colin could figure out a way to say what he so desperately wanted to, his father stood. The movements were slow and looked painful. “For what it’s worth, son, I’m glad you were there that day.”

Colin said the only thing he could, the only thing that kept running through his mind. “Why did you do it?” It came out as a whisper this time, and in truth, he didn’t expect any more of an answer than he had received moments earlier.

Jaime was silent for a moment before a ghost of a smile curled
around the wrinkles at the corners of his lips. “Did you know Alastair sent his future son-in-law down to university in Cambridge? Not that he’s getting a benefit from that. The couple moved inland after they married. He’s a barrister over in Edinburgh now.”

With a look around the drawing room, Jaime laughed. “Not doing nearly as well as you. I doubt it means much, but I’m proud of you.”

Colin didn’t want it to mean anything. He wanted to explore the niggling idea that Jaime had bet the business in hopes of increasing his cash holdings in order to look better than Alastair. But as much as he wanted to think of the man as Jaime, he was still his father. The tinges of red and brown in his greying curls were the same color Colin saw in the mirror. The blue eyes, faded by years of squinting on the sea, were so very similar to Colin’s own. This man was still his father, and what he thought was still important.

One mistake. The man had made one mistake, and it had cost him a quarter of his company and a third of his family. Could Colin really fault the man for a single mistake? When he’d made so many himself?

Jaime headed for the door, his steps spry, even though he looked old and weary. The weight of unspoken remorse, perhaps, rather than age?

Was there a chance this could be mended after all? Colin swallowed against the emotion in his throat, so thick he couldn’t quite name it—wasn’t sure he wanted to, because he was fairly certain part of it was guilt for his own part in the separation.

“Da,” he said quietly.

Jaime stopped but didn’t turn around. “Your mother has them set your place at the table every night.”

Colin would not cry. The empty place setting had been a tradition growing up. Whenever Jaime was away at sea, his place at the table would still be set. Colin’s mother always said it was because even though he wasn’t there, he was still family.

It was as close as Jaime was going to come to asking Colin to return home. But Colin couldn’t ignore what had happened.
Perhaps if he came to understand what had motivated his father he could find the first steps toward forgiveness.

“If I come to Scotland, do you think . . . I’d like for us to talk about that day. I deserve that much. We all do.” Had Jaime ever told his wife what had happened? What had she thought when Colin’s letter had been the only part of him to return from that last trip?

Father turned enough to look Colin in the eye, a glimmer of hope making the wrinkled face a little less sad. “I suppose you do.”

Both stood there, still as statues, each lost in his own thoughts. Was his father thinking about the implications of Colin’s return to Scotland? Was he considering how reuniting his family could come at the cost of his position as head of the largest shipping company in Scotland? Because while Colin might be ready to come home, might even be ready to forgive his father, he wasn’t going to let things return to the way they once had been.

It was painfully obvious as Jaime left the house that a return to the old way was what he wanted, because of all the things his father hadn’t said, the fact that he hadn’t offered Colin a position at Celestial Shipping left the largest hole.

“Isn’t he handsome? He had a new piano shipped in from Italy.”

Georgina bit the inside of her lip to keep her mouth from dropping open at Jane’s simpering declaration. While Georgina was thankful her friend’s fascination with Lord Howard seemed to have waned, it appeared the fool woman had learned nothing from her escapade. She’d become enamored with the equally as worthless Mr. Givendale. “He’s up to his ears in gambling debt,” Georgina mumbled.

Jane’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s dancing. Last week I was returning from the ladies’ retiring room and I heard them banning him from the card room until he’d made good on his IOUs. Since he’s dancing tonight, I assume he has yet to return to those gentlemen’s good graces.”
Georgina flicked her fan, enjoying the brief respite from dancing. When had the balls turned into such tedium? Was it the worry that accompanied them? Each event was one day closer to the end of the Season and one less opportunity to secure her future.

“So you think I shouldn’t—”

“Exactly.” Georgina cut Jane off. She refused to run after the girl again. “Or at least require him to marry you in a church this time.”

Jane had the decency to blush.

“Pardon, Lady Georgina, but the gentleman asked me to give you this.”

Georgina turned to the footman at her side, extending a silver platter with a folded piece of paper on it. Had Ashcombe sent her another note? Was the man incapable of crossing a room? She’d done nothing this evening that could possibly draw his censure. She took the paper and stuffed it in her glove. “Thank you.”

Jane looked from Georgina’s glove to her face, which Georgina hoped was exuding serenity and not panic. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Georgina cut her eyes to look at her friend. “Honestly, Jane, anyone who hasn’t the time to cross the room and talk to me in person does not deserve my immediate attention.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

Thankful that Jane was still as predictable as ever, Georgina made a production of sighing and considering her friend. “No.” She slid the note from her glove. “But if it bothers you so much, feel free to read it.”

Wide blue eyes met Georgina’s as delicate fingers wrapped around the folded paper.

Georgina waited while Jane opened the paper. She immediately squealed and clapped one hand over her mouth to stop the sound. She looked up at Georgina. “It’s from Lord Ashcombe.”

She’d figured as much. If the man insisted on relaying every communication through written correspondence, she might have to reconsider his suit. Frustration that she would be right back where she was at the beginning of the Season—only without a
list of prospects—made her want to rip the paper from Jane’s fingers, but she maintained an appearance of nonchalance until Jane finished reading the infernal note.

Jane gasped again before gritting her teeth to hold back another squeal. “He wants to you to meet him.” She nudged Georgina in the arm. “Things must be going well with the earl.”

Georgina rolled her eyes and retrieved the paper. Things were going well with the earl but not well enough for her to risk her reputation on a clandestine meeting on the terrace or, worse, in the garden. He would simply have to do his courting in front of everyone else like a normal gentleman.