Betina Krahn (28 page)

Then something even more dire occurred to her. What if they didn’t get the charter? What if she had to return to the board empty-handed, having failed to meet one of their conditions for funding the bank? In their current suspicious mood, how long would it be before her failure with the bank tainted the rest of her work in their eyes? How long would she retain the presidency, membership on the board, or even controlling interest?

In her mind’s eye, she could see the committee casting negative votes and she squeezed her eyes shut.

By the time they resumed their seats, the committee members were red-faced, agitated, and clearly out of patience with the entire situation.

“If it were up to me, young woman,” the spokesman for the group declared with furious glare, “I would pack you off or lock you up, and see to it you had more to do
than gad about the countryside dreaming up ridiculous schemes to put money in women’s hands.” He shook an age-knotted finger at her. “It is pure idiocy—not to mention against the very natural order—to have women out buying and selling, making decisions, and handling money. It’s an affront to the authority and responsibility of men everywhere!”

Beatrice’s face burned, her heart beat erratically, and her throat filled with tears she refused to show. It was bad enough to be refused a charter and to know that she had to go back to her board a failure. But to be attacked so personally.… She stiffened and without quite realizing it, shoved to her feet. She was trembling … torn between fury and hurt … scarcely aware of Connor and Alice rising to stand with her.

“It is with great pleasure that I will watch this accursed bank fail,” the spokesman continued. “And when it does, I shall personally request to testify at the trial for fraud, malfeasance, and larceny which shall undoubtedly follow.” With that, he gathered up his papers and stalked from the chamber … pausing just long enough to send her one last, hateful glare.

Another of the committee members quickly followed his lead, withdrawing from the chamber in a huff.

Beatrice turned to Connor in confusion. “What does that mean? What’s happened?” Seeing he had no answer, she turned and called out to the two remaining committee members: “What does this mean? What was the vote? At least tell us that.”

One of the old boys struggled to his feet and pinned her with a dark look.

“Three to two,” he said, gathering up his things. “It looks like you’ll get yourself a charter.”

“What?” She couldn’t seem to make sense of it. Three
to two? They had gotten their recommendation? They had
won?

“We did it,” Connor said in a tone of disbelief.
“You
did it.”

Beatrice heard only bits and pieces of the admonition that followed … the gist of which, according to what Connor reported later, was that the state banking department would be watching her very carefully, and she had better mind every jot and tittle of the bank’s business.

She hurried to the dais to thank the committee, assuring them that the bank would have her total attention and that she would validate the trust they had just placed in her and in Consolidated Industries.

By the time she reached the hallway, it was beginning to sink in—she had their recommendation and after a legislative vote the charter would be theirs!

“We did it!” she said, tears of joy and relief spilling down her cheeks as she pulled Connor around to face her. “
You
did it!”

Then she hugged him … hugged Alice … and hugged herself, laughing through her tears. Then Alice hugged her again, laughing, and Connor picked her up and whirled her around the lobby, heedless of the shocked stares of onlookers.

By the time she had her feet back under her again, she was wiping away those tears and already thinking of the next step.

“Goodness”—she pressed a hand to her breast—“what a fright that gave me.” Then she straightened with fresh determination. “Now, all we have to do is get one or two hundred
more
men to agree that our bank is a wonderful idea.”

Connor rolled his eyes at Alice. “She never quits, does
she?” When Alice just grinned, he looked bewildered. “How do you put up with it?”

Alice laughed and tossed Beatrice a faintly conspiratorial look.

“She gives me a raise every other week.”

THEY CELEBRATED WITH
a luncheon at a fine restaurant, then paid calls on several key legislators who agreed to introduce and shepherd the bill of charter through the legislature. Later, as they walked back to the hotel in the cool autumn sunshine, Beatrice stole glimpses at Connor’s profile. How could his grandfather possibly ignore his many fine qualities and continue to disparage him? He was a good man … persuasive … clever … courageous … and determined to act on his convictions.

When they stopped at a restaurant for coffee, Alice yawned and declared that she had had enough excitement for one day. Beatrice and Connor walked her back to the hotel so she could rest, then resumed walking. Beatrice felt completely at ease with him, contented to be in his company.

“Thank you for speaking up today,” she said finally.

“You don’t need to thank me. It was my job, after all. Wait until you get my bill.”

She laughed, then grew serious again. “If you hadn’t spoken up, I don’t know if we would have gotten the charter.” She caught his gaze. “And the things you said …”

“Only the truth,” he assured her. “And one hell of a risk. Three to two. It very well might have gone the other way.”

They reached the capitol green and found a bench under a tree that was turning autumn colors. As they sat in the lowering daylight, he grew reflective. “The last time we saw each other we argued, too.” She realized that he was referring to his grandfather. “Over another woman.” He expelled a heavy breath. “My wife. He didn’t want me to marry ‘shanty Irish’ like my father had … he said he’d disinherit me.”

“And he did,” she supplied, bracing her elbow on the back of the bench and resting her cheek on her hand. He nodded. She needed to know more. “Tell me about her.”

“Are you sure …”

“I’d like to know,” she said. “I think she must have been very special.”

“She was. Erin. Bright and beautiful … with flame red hair and a temper to match. We were well suited, despite what my grandfather thought. She was both an anchor and a rudder for me. She grounded me and yet made me want to touch the stars.” He closed that vivid memory and gave her a short, rueful smile. “It took me a long, painful while to understand that I wouldn’t die, couldn’t die just because she did. It’s been seven years and though I still love her, I no longer feel married to her. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you.” When she nodded, he paused and propped his elbow on the back of the bench, leaning toward her. “Your turn.”

She blushed, touched unexpectedly by the fact that he wanted to know her story, too. She told him, haltingly at first, about the circumstances of her marriage to Mercer. “My parents were ambitious socially and financially. They panicked when my older sister Caroline—Priscilla’s mother—eloped with a penniless Italian count. She was my best friend, my confidante, the one
thing that made my life in my parents’ house bearable. I was crushed when she ran away with her Dominic. My parents were furious at us both and decided to marry me off quickly, before I got silly romantic notions myself.”

“So, insanity runs in the family, then,” he quipped.

She raised one eyebrow and continued. “Mercer was getting older and his advisers were concerned that he have an heir—someone to take up the reins of the businesses when he could no longer run things. But, we were unable to have children.” She shrugged. “So I became a combination daughter and wife. He tutored me in business and made special legal arrangements for me to step in as head of the companies when he died.”

She paused and stared off into the distance, thinking of the board meeting and how narrowly she had avoided being replaced as head of the companies. “I probably should have told you … when I presented this bank idea to my board of directors, they weren’t impressed either. Things got a bit ugly.” She smoothed her skirt over her lap, deciding how much to reveal. She wanted desperately to share it, to have him know what had happened to her. “They called for a vote of no confidence in me and tried to remove me as president of the board.”

“What?” He straightened sharply. “They tried to kick you out?”

She nodded. “Two of the board members knew about my being in the Oriental Palace and tried to blackmail me into resigning. When I didn’t cooperate, they described to the board in vivid detail, seeing me in ‘depraved and immoral revels’ at the Oriental. They called me a hypocrite for my ‘high-and-mighty’ stand on fair wages and labor standards, and demanded I resign.”

“How could they have known about the Oriental
Palace?” He took her hands in his. “I didn’t tell anyone and I’m sure Charlotte wouldn’t have said anything about it.”

“They said they saw me there.” She gradually relaxed under his touch, grateful to be able to talk about it. “Punjab carried me up and down the main stairs several times. They might have seen me.” The more she thought about it, the likelier it seemed. “I guess they must have seen me.”

“But you said they failed to oust you.”

“I had to do some fast talking.” She looked up with a wry grin. “I just pretended I was you. I demanded that they produce more witnesses and finally reminded the older board members of all we’d done together.” She grew more thoughtful. “What surprised me was how quickly they were willing to turn on me. I guess they must have resented Mercer’s choosing me to run the company more than I thought. I had always considered them my friends as well as my business partners.” She raised his hand and rubbed her cheek against it. “A contradiction in terms, I now realize. A woman in business has no friends.”

A rumble of understanding came from his throat. “Sounds like politics. You never quite know who your real friends are.” His voice trailed off, along with his thoughts. After a minute or two, he set those dismal thoughts aside.

“We’ve had quite a day.” He leaned close and whispered, “How about if we make dinner tonight just as memorable?”

She smiled up at him. “I believe I could be persuaded.”

When they arrived at the hotel, she stopped by the
front desk to check for her messages. There was nothing of consequence and she started up the stairs to her room while Connor consulted with the hotel manager to make arrangements for a special dinner. As she reached the mezzanine of the lobby she heard a voice that sounded alarmingly familiar. But before she could place it, she came face-to-face with its owner on the steps: Hurst Eddington Barrow.

“You.” He glanced past her, looking for Connor. “If I’d known you were staying here, I’d have changed hotels.” Then he pinned her with his steely regard. “I suppose you think you’ve won.”

“We got the committee’s recommendation,” she said calmly, glancing over the railing to see if Connor was coming. He wasn’t in sight. “I’ll get my charter and my bank.”

“Enjoy it while you can. You’ve gotten all you’ll ever get from
him.
”

Something in his tone caused her to look more deeply at him. What she now saw in his craggy face was pain and illness. He was an old man who had been too alone for too long with his grudges and regrets.

“You’re wrong about him. He’s a good man. He’s generous and caring … strong and compassionate, and thoughtful …”

The old man snorted disgust.

“He’s slick. He’s too damned clever. And he looks out only for himself.”

“If you really believe that, then you’re shortsighted
and
foolish,” she said irritably. “You’re determined to hate him because he rejected your fortune and your control of his life. But when I see what your kind of life has done for you, I believe he made the right decision.”

The old man produced a bitter smile. “He may have sweet-talked you into believing he’s a saint, but you’ll learn the truth soon enough.” He moved closer to her on the steps and shook a bony finger. “He’ll turn his back on you … just when you need him most. You mark my words.”

She stood for a moment, torn between anger and pity, watching the old man’s knotty figure thumping down the steps. To have had so much wealth and yet be so poor in love, compassion, friendship, joy, and family … the things that make life meaningful. Hurst Barrow was a sobering lesson in what was and was not valuable in life. He had spent his entire life in a quest for control … of his business ventures, of his vast fortune, of an entire industry … of his associates and employees, his competitors, his family … his only grandson.

Control. Insight blew with gale force through her, causing her to clutch the railing to steady herself. That was what her life had always been about, too … controlling her expectations, her circumstances, her businesses, and her fortunes. And that growing need for control had inevitably extended to her associations … her suffrage work … her desire to wrest power from arbitrary and incompetent rule makers in society or on her own board … even her fierce control of her niece’s future. And her successes had culminated in the ultimate exercise in control … suppressing her hopes and her dreams, her deepest needs and passions. How different was that from what Hurst Barrow had done in his life? His loneliness, his anger, his bitterness … was that what she had been headed for?

Had been.
Past tense.

It was in that moment, standing on the hotel stairs,
watching Hurst Barrow barreling and bruising his way through his loveless world, that Beatrice understood how much had changed in her life. Thanks to Connor, Priscilla, and Jeffrey—she was being given a second chance at things she thought long lost or destined only for others.