Buckeye Dreams (40 page)

“Oh yes, your
interests
,” his cousin Edward drawled, leaning against the bookcase behind his father. “Horse racing and chasing after every attractive young lady in the city.”

“At least I have them to chase,” Peter shot back. With his strong, handsome face, chocolate-brown hair, and—as Granddad used to say—eyes greener than a spring meadow, Pittsburgh’s eligible young ladies were more than willing quarry. Of course, being Hiram McCord’s heir didn’t hurt either. “Tell me, how are your marriage prospects?”

A slow, smug smile grew over his cousin’s face. “Much improved now that
I’m
heir of McCord Steel and you’re—”

“That’s enough.” Uncle Randall glanced sharply at his son. “Peter, what exactly did you expect? Considering your disastrous time at Princeton—”

“I did graduate,” Peter snapped, rereading the will carefully.

“Barely. You spent more time at the racetracks than attending to your studies. I’m sure my father realized you couldn’t possibly oversee his fortune.”

“Granddad knew I wouldn’t run the mill like he did. He knew I had every intention of hiring the best possible man to oversee its operation.”

“While you exhaust the McCord fortune on horses, I suppose.”

“Granddad approved of my interest in horses. It was his idea to buy the farm in Ligonier—”

“Then why didn’t he leave you even the smallest stipend to keep the farm running?”

Ignoring the question, Peter strode over to his uncle. “Granddad couldn’t have left everything to you. He wouldn’t have.” He shook the document. “This can’t possibly be the correct will. It must be an older version.”

“It’s the correct one, Peter,” Edward said. “Didn’t you check the date?”

Peter looked at the will again. It had been signed a little over a year ago. He put his hand over his eyes. What could he have done over the past year to cause his grandfather to do this? Why hadn’t he at least warned him? Peter stiffened. That last night, before Granddad slipped away in his sleep, the old man had begged for his understanding when the will was read. Peter had thought it was the laudanum talking. He felt a hand on his shoulder. His uncle had risen from his seat and now stood next to him.

“It was my father’s last wish that you be taken care of, and it is one I intend to honor,” he said, his hand turning viselike.

Peter shook free, handed the will to his uncle, and walked to the door. “I’ll take care of myself, thank you, Uncle Randall.”

“And how will you manage to do that, may I ask?”

Peter turned. His uncle resumed his seat behind the desk.

“You’ve been left with nothing. Not even the smallest sum of money.” Peter remained silent and he continued. “As I said, I am willing to support you, but there will be a few conditions.”

“And those would be?”

“It’s high time you used that education my father paid for. I assume you learned
something
in spite of your horrendous marks.” His uncle’s eyes narrowed keenly. “You will come to work for me at the mill and earn your keep for a change.”

Peter smiled humorlessly and shook his head.

“My thanks for the offer, Uncle, but I have a very promising colt that will be ready to race soon. I think I’ll take my chances with him. In the meantime, I’m sure Henry won’t mind me staying with him.” Peter knew he and his horse trainer would think of something to keep the farm running. Sell off a few mares perhaps— His uncle’s voice stopped him in midthought.

“You could, if the farm still belonged to you.”

Peter felt the blood leave his face. “What do you mean?”

“Despite the fact he bought it for you, it seems the farm is still in my father’s name. Not yours. Therefore, it now belongs to me. I intend on dismissing Henry Farley and selling off the animals as quickly as possible.”

Peter tried to digest what he’d just heard as his uncle moved swiftly on. “The other condition concerns Miss Leticia Jamison.”

He looked at his uncle blankly. Leticia—Letty—was the daughter of his grandfather’s lawyer, Simon Jamison. “What about her?”

“A month or so ago, you and she were invited to the club as guests of Mr. and Mrs. Braddock, were you not?”

“Yes.” Nearly every young person of his acquaintance had been invited. Hazel Braddock had recently become engaged, and her parents arranged a sort of extended engagement party at the hunting and fishing club on Lake Conemaugh. Even as sick as he was, Granddad had insisted he go, eager for his grandson to make a match. Peter had been delighted to mingle with some fine young ladies from Harrisburg there, and even now, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their charms. They had all but fallen over themselves, vying for his attention. How could they not? Uncle Randall cleared his throat and Peter blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“I said, what exactly happened between you and Miss Jamison?” Uncle Randall asked.

“Nothing. If I hadn’t rescued her, I doubt I would have talked to her very much the whole trip.”

Letty was a sweet enough girl. Pretty, too, but not really Peter’s type. Far too bookish for his tastes, she wasn’t part of his circle of friends. She’d gone to school with Hazel, the only reason she’d been invited in the first place.

“Oh yes.” His uncle shot his son a look. “You two took a walk and got lost, I believe?”

“Miss Jamison got lost,” Peter corrected. “She’d never been to the lake before and wandered off by herself. We all went out looking for her, and I found her.” And he’d been considered quite the hero by the rest of the young ladies as a result.

“I also heard she was hysterical when you brought her back.”

“Well, of course—she was out in the elements by herself for over an hour.” Peter wished his uncle would get to the point. He needed to go to his room and figure out what he was going to do. If he could just get a few minutes to himself … but his uncle’s next words jarred any other thought from his head.

“Her dress was ripped, almost beyond repair.”

Peter frowned. “What are you implying?”

“Father’s not implying anything,” Edward said. “Letty says you took advantage of her.”

“What? No!” That was a line he was always careful to not so much as approach—much less cross—no matter how tempting. The price, a wedding ring, was far too high. “She said she fell before I found her. She told everyone as much.”

“To avoid any embarrassment, I’m sure,” his cousin replied. “But she won’t be able to explain the state she’ll be in within a few months. Not without being married.”

A sick feeling rose in Peter’s gut as he realized he had a bigger problem than simply being penniless. He looked from his uncle to his cousin.

“That can’t be true. Nothing happened,” he said.

“Her doctor has assured me that it is true.”

“I’m
not
marrying Letty Jamison.”

“Then you may leave this house at once. I’m sure my father would understand my refusing to abide by his last request considering the circumstances.” A gleam appeared in Uncle Randall’s eyes. “And if you think you have friends around here that will take you in, think again. One word of this will close every door in Pittsburgh. Considering your reputation, no one will doubt it for a moment.”

Peter felt all control of his world slipping away. It must have shown on his face, judging by his uncle’s next words.

“Your aunt will help her with the arrangements. Since we are in mourning, the wedding will happen quietly in the parlor in a month’s time. I think you’ll agree we shouldn’t wait any longer—for Miss Jamison’s sake.”

One month later, Peter shrugged reluctantly into a linen shirt and buttoned it, while his valet sorted through his cuff links.

“The mother-of-pearl set will do fine, Jimmy.”

Though surprised, he did as he was told. A knock at the door interrupted them. Setting the links aside, Jimmy walked over to answer it. Peter scowled as he heard him speak a few murmured words. What on earth did Uncle Randall want from him now?

Jimmy returned, a velvet box in his hand and an uneasy look in his eyes. “Your uncle sent this up. He says it’s a gift … for her.”

Peter opened it. A pearl necklace lay inside, and not just any piece of jewelry.

“This belonged to my mother.” He clenched his jaw. His uncle had taken charge of it when he had Peter’s things moved from his spacious room on the floor below to this small, cramped, forgotten room in the garret. “And he expects me to give it to Letty?” He snapped the box shut. “He can go straight to the devil!”

Peter slapped the box down on his desk and snatched up his cuff links. He fumbled with them, trying to put them on. Jimmy quickly came to his aid. Poor Jimmy. He was valet to Edward now, but Peter had insisted the young man be permitted to help him dress one last time. He needed a friend close by on the day he would lose what little freedom still remained to him.

“Thank you, Jimmy. I’m sorry I sounded short.”

“It’s all right, sir,” the young man said as he handed Peter his tie.

“I’m sorry, too, for all this. My cousin can’t be very pleasant to work for.” Peter couldn’t help but smirk as he fashioned a perfect four-in-hand knot. “Although, I have to admit I am pleased every time I see one of your sad knots hanging around his neck.”

Jimmy gave him a self-conscious smile. Tying cravats and ties was the young man’s only failing as a valet, but Peter had never minded.

“And he thought you were the master behind my perfectly formed ties,” he said.

“Yes, sir, thank you for keeping that secret for so long.” He helped Peter into his frock coat and brushed imaginary dust from the shoulders. As Peter made some final adjustments, Jimmy picked up the velvet case. “May I, sir?”

Peter nodded and watched him open the case and look admiringly at the necklace inside. It was the only thing of his mother’s Peter owned. Granddad had given it to him several years ago, and he remembered that moment as the sole time his grandfather ever mentioned her. Even then, it was only to say that she had been a lovely young woman. The sadness in his face and eyes had kept Peter from pressing him for more. Sarah McCord’s death had been tragic; a carriage accident had taken the life of Granddad’s only daughter. Peter’s father divorced and abandoned his mother before his birth, which was why he bore the name McCord.

“If you’ll pardon the cheek, sir, it’s not right for Miss Jamison to have this.” He set it back on the desk then walked to the window and peered out.

Jimmy had been the only one to believe his assertion that nothing had happened between him and Letty. He’d been as outraged at her claim as Peter had, if not more. Peter smiled humorlessly. “Don’t apologize; you’re right. But as much as I agree with you, I don’t think I have much choice in the matter.”

He joined him at the window. A starling flitted from one bush to another in the gardens that lay directly below them. He envied the bird’s freedom. Peter’s every move had been closely monitored for the past month. He felt as if he were being kept in a deep hole, only to be taken out when needed. Almost sick with anger, he turned away from the window and ran frustrated hands through his hair. Spying the velvet case, he opened it and carefully removed the pearls. They shimmered gently in his hands, and the ornate clasp glittered. Bile rose in his throat as he imagined them around Letty’s neck. He glanced at Jimmy.

“Who brought the necklace up here? Jenkins?” His uncle had fired Martin, their old butler, when he and his family came to live at the McCord mansion, and elevated one of the older footmen to his position. Albert Jenkins, a sharp-eyed man, reported Peter’s every move to his uncle.

“No, sir, it was one of the maids. Jenkins is sick as I understand it.”

Opportunity whispered in Peter’s ear. Laying the necklace on the desk, he sat down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind getting me something to drink?”

“Of course, sir. Anything in particular?”

“Something that will get me through the rest of the day.” He looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Jimmy smiled and nodded before leaving the room.

With one fluid motion, Peter pulled out pen and paper, scribbled a note to the valet, and then placed the envelope where only Jimmy would find it. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he traded the frock coat for his sack suit jacket and quickly dispensed with his tie and collar. That was better. He looked a little more working class now. There was only one thing to be done, only one way out, and he intended to take it. He went to the door, down the back stairs, out the servant’s door, and on his way to the section of Pittsburgh that boasted the most pawnshops.

A
nne Kirby pulled her trunk from the corner where it sat over to her bed and raised the lid. She stared at it for a long moment and then bit her lip, trying to set her mind on preparing for her trip. But her wandering thoughts tumbled like jagged rocks in her mind, and a headache began to prick behind her brown eyes. Closing them, she sat on the edge of her bed, not hearing her mother come in.

“Are you all right?”

The lilt of her mother’s German accent and the gentle pressure of her hand on her shoulder startled Anne. She looked up, a smile flickering across her face as she rose. “I’m fine, Ma. I was just … thinking.”