Copper Kingdom (8 page)

Bea blew him a kiss and hurried through the hall and up the wide staircase towards her room. Once inside, she closed the door and went directly to the window and looked down into the gardens. The grounds were swathed now in misty rain and far below, she could hear the wash of the sea against the shore.

She rested her face against the cold of the glass pane, closing her eyes, picturing Sterling's sensitive, handsome face. She wondered, as she did frequently these days, how it would feel to have his lips capturing her own. She moved impatiently from the window and looked at the bare third finger of her left hand. Marriage to Sterling had been a dream that had sustained her for some time now. He was the only man she would ever want but he had never said anything to make her believe her dream would one day become a reality.

Bea opened the heavy door of the wardrobe and drew out a soft velvet skirt and a jacket of baby blue angora. The blouse she was wearing was of thick, creamy lace and would do very well, she thought.

She was a woman who had come to full maturity. Her mouth and the droop of her heavy-lidded eyes revealed a sensuality of which she was not entirely unaware. Her hair was glossy and dark, drawn away from a high intelligent forehead. About her was an air of waiting, like a bud before it comes to its full-blown glory.

Bea had just finished dressing when she heard the chiming of the doorbell. Quickly, she slipped on her soft leather shoes with their small, baby Louis heels and hurried downstairs.

Sterling's face shone with cold and his bright hair was diamonded with droplets of rain. He brought into the hallway with him the feeling of the outdoors, of air fresh and balmy. He smiled down at her and absurdly, Bea felt suddenly shy.

‘You look very lovely today.' He spoke lightly but his eyes rested on her with such approval that Bea felt breathless with happiness. He was so close that she could have reached out and touched him and yet it was as though a great divide separated them.

‘Thank you, Sterling.' The words sounded stilted even to her own ears and she wondered where the easy relationship they had enjoyed in their childhood had vanished.

‘Come into the drawing room,' she added quickly, ‘Daddy won't be long – I left him in the conservatory.'

Together, they moved into the warmth of the spacious room where a huge fire roared and crackled in the ornate hearth. A carpet of rich Indian weave covered the floor and a grand piano occupied pride of place near the large window. Against one wall stood a high-backed sideboard upon which rested a set of lead crystal decanters and matching glasses.

‘Would you like some brandy?' Bea asked, her face turned away from him. ‘Please, Sterling, sit down, don't stand on ceremony with me.'

As she approached him with the glass, he patted the sofa beside him and she felt it would be churlish to refuse.

‘I'm very fond of you, Bea,' he said softly. ‘But I'm sure you know that already.'

‘Do I?' She wanted to cry to him that she was growing older, that friendship was no longer enough. She longed for him to speak to her father to ask for her in marriage but treacherous thoughts such as these could not be spoken.

He rose to his feet, thrusting his hands into his pockets, staring down at her, seeing not Bea's questioning eyes but some far-distant notions of his own.

‘The time has come for me to settle down,' he said at last. ‘I need a place of my own for Plas Rhianfa will be my mother's home while she is alive.' He smiled, ‘And I do believe I've found just the house for me.'

Bea felt her heart begin to thump, she scarcely dared hope that Sterling was hinting at marriage and, even as her hands trembled, she tried desperately to appear composed.

Sterling stared down at her for a long moment in silence, as though lost in his own thoughts. Was he, she wondered, as nervous as she?

‘Sterling, it's all right,' she said. ‘I think I know what you're trying to say.' Her voice was light and triumph bubbled inside her so that she thought she would explode into a hundred sparkling fragments, but her eyes were demurely downcast.

He sighed in relief. ‘I knew I could count on you to help in any way you could,' he said. ‘Mother is determined to put up fussy drapes and decorate the place like a woman's bedroom and that's something I don't intend to put up with.' He smiled and Bea blinked rapidly, trying to assimilate the meaning of his words.

‘You have such flair,' he continued. ‘I've always admired the way you've kept this house so light and airy.' He came towards her and took her hand.

‘You know something, Bea? You're like the sister I've never had.'

The pain was almost a physical one. She sank back against the hard sofa, trying to fight the waves of hysterical laughter that washed over her. Sterling thought of her as a sister, he wanted her help in furnishing his house but he most certainly did not consider her for one moment as being mistress of it.

The door opened and James Cardigan entered the room. He came forward, hand outstretched, a hearty note in his voice that struck Bea as being false.

‘Sterling my boy, happy to see you, got a great deal to talk over haven't we?'

Sterling's smile was nothing more than polite. ‘Yes, indeed.' Briefly, he shook hands.

‘Well, shall we leave it until we've had tea?' James's smile included Bea. ‘What are we having dear, some of those delicious scones you have made your speciality?' His pride in his daughter was evident but Bea felt herself flush with embarrassment; trust father to extoll her virtues at exactly the wrong moment.

‘I haven't done any cooking today,' she replied a little impatiently. ‘You'll just have to manage with whatever Mrs Bevan has prepared.'

James seated himself in the chair nearest the fire and though he leaned back against the cushions he gave the impression of being anything but comfortable.

Bea did not listen to the conversation between the two men for they spoke of nothing of importance. The words seemed forced and stilted and Bea retired into herself, sinking back against the hardness of the corded velvet sofa, the hurt within her almost too much to bear. At her side Sterling sat stiffly upright, his back and shoulders revealing his tension. Looking at the hair so crisp and bright resting against the darkness of his jacket collar, she longed to reach out and touch it.

She bit her lips, trying to comfort herself with rational excuses about his behaviour. He did not mean to offend her by telling her his interest was purely sisterly. If that was how he did truly see her then it was about time she changed his mind for him.

Hope began to grow within her, after all he had invited her into his home and there, she would have ample opportunity to try to impress him. There was no other woman in his life, of that she was sure, for Sweyn's Eye would have been buzzing with gossip by now.

The afternoon seemed to draw on so slowly that Bea felt like screaming. Darkness came down early and the gas lights hissed and popped in the many silences that fell between the two men. At last, Bea rose to her feet.

‘If you will both excuse me.' She forced herself to speak lightly. ‘I will leave you to your business talk.'

Sterling rose to his feet and opened the door for her, smiling down in a way that made her heart turn over.

‘Don't forget your offer to help me with my house,' he said, his eyes warm. ‘And if you need me for anything, I have taken a suite of rooms in the Mackworth Arms, just as a temporary measure.'

She smiled up at him as though he'd offered her the most wonderful gift.

‘I shall need to see you,' she said definitely. ‘I must consult you about colour schemes and that sort of thing.'

He inclined his head as though bowing to her superior knowledge of such matters and then the door was closed and Bea was in the hallway alone.

She stood for a moment, staring down at the polished wood of the floor without really seeing it. She felt weary, drained of all her spirit and tears were ready to slip down her cheeks.

In her room, she drew her chair closer to the fire, she was shivering and the flames did nothing to warm her. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her body, trying to imagine herself in Sterling's arms. She longed to be held close in the embrace of a lover but perhaps even more than she needed passion, she wanted tenderness and love.

Dean Sutton was a big man and what some might call ruggedly handsome. His features were large but regular and when he smiled, his teeth were white and even. He stood in the doorway of his home and stared around him; the rain had ceased and a pale sun illuminated the few acres of land that were his. It was a far different cry from his home in South Georgia where the ground rolling away as far as the eye could see belonged to the Suttons.

He had left America under a cloud, the black sheep of the family. He gambled and drank far too much for his father's liking but then Grenville Sutton had been a religious man, carrying his faith to extremes and his eldest son had always been an anathema to him.

At last, inevitably, Dean had gone too far, he had seduced Mary Anne Bloomfield, his brother's bride to be.

Dirk was younger than Dean by almost ten years, the spoilt baby of the family. Such an act of betrayal by one brother to the other was more than Grenville Sutton would tolerate. Dean was banished, ejected bag and baggage from the Sutton home with only the small inheritance left him by his mother to pay his way.

It had been his own decision to travel to Britain and for a time, he had roamed the small country from coast to coast. At last he had settled in Sweyn's Eye, attracted as much by the rugged coast and sloping hills as by the business of the copper-smelting industry.

It had not taken Dean very long to build a house of his own, a splendid place with marble pillars and many windows. It had taken a little longer to become accepted by the local people and Dean knew full well that it was the large amount of capital he had offered Arthur Richardson, that had opened the doors for him to be drawn into the social life of the town.

He was not as interested in the copper as perhaps he might have been and just lately, the copper shares had yielded very little profit. He had begun to wonder if this was an expedient time to pull out of the company. It was just as well that after living in the town for almost ten years, he had managed to consolidate his small fortune by investing in a diversity of business ventures.

The groom brought round his horse from the stable and Dean mounted the animal with the ease born of long practice. Not for him these newfangled automobiles, nothing could ever replace the exhilaration of being seated high in the saddle with the fresh sea breeze blowing across the hills.

His journey was a short one. He was making for the home of James Cardigan; it might be just as well to ask his partner what he felt about the future of the copper industry. Dean smiled to himself, knowing it was merely an excuse, what he really wanted was to see Bea's beautiful eyes looking up at him with melting sweetness.

He recognised that it was about time he found himself a bride. He was thirty-five years of age and needed to put down roots. Four fine sons, that's what he wanted from life, and Bea looked strong and healthy enough to give him as many children as he desired.

It was about time he broached the subject of the marriage to James. Dean felt certain that the older man would welcome the suggestion with open arms for Bea was past the first flush of youth. But still beautiful enough to stir the senses of any man, he thought wistfully.

The maid who answered the door to Dean looked up with glowing eyes, her wide smile revealing her pleasure at seeing him. As Dean handed her his hat and riding crop, he winked at her. Bertha did not need telling in which direction his affections lay. She was sensitive to anything that affected her beloved mistress and had a closeness with her that was only usually found between sisters.

‘Fine day it's turned out to be, Mr Sutton,' Bertha said warmly. ‘Brought the sunshine, you have.'

Dean rubbed his hands together. ‘A little too cold for my liking, Bertha, but fine enough for all that. Is Miss Bea at home?'

Bertha nodded. ‘Yes, sir, she's in her room, I'll call her at once.' She hesitated. ‘Mr Cardigan is in the drawing room, he has company, perhaps you'd like to wait in the conservatory?'

Dean stared around him, stifled by the plethora of plants. Everything here was so small and so confining, perhaps one day he would return to his homeland and maybe take with him a wife and family.

He turned as he heard a sound in the doorway. ‘Bea, as lovely as ever.' He took the hand she held out to him and gently kissed her upturned palm. She smiled warmly at him, her wide, generous mouth curving upwards so that her face was transformed.

‘This is a pleasant surprise, Dean.' She seated herself in a chair and spread the soft blueness of her skirt around her small feet with a gracious movement of her small hands. He would be the envy of all American society if he took home with him such a prize.

‘You seem so serious, what is it, Dean?' Bea held her head on one side in a charming gesture and Dean resisted the impulse to sweep her into his arms. He had found from experience that these people liked to move slowly and with decorum.

‘I am serious – about you,' he said and as her eyes widened, he realised with a sinking feeling that she had never thought of him in the role of suitor.

‘I've startled you,' he said, watching in fascination as the rich blush suffused Bea's face and throat. He longed to put his mouth where the tiny pulse beat in the hollow of her neck, he just knew that behind that controlled exterior was a passionate woman.

She looked down at her hands, avoiding his eyes. ‘I suppose I am a little surprised,' she said softly and Dean could have smiled at such understatement if he had not been feeling so disappointed.