Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (35 page)

“It isn’t as it seems, Cora….”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, rising, her voice rising too. She was clearly close to tears. “Here we are in Vienna. While your men drill into the ridge my papa walked for years. For
years
.”

Wallace’s nostrils flared. “He was a farmer! He would’ve never dug into that ridge, Cora. You know as well as I that he would’ve stayed married to the soil, never looking beyond it.” He took a deep breath, splaying his hands. “Alan’s a good man, true and faithful. But he has no vision, nor did he have the means to do anything else to—”

“Stop. Stop it.” She lifted her hand to him, shaking her head. “You may not steal from an ill man and then speak poorly of him. You may not!”

“I did not steal from him! I made something from nothing. All in an effort to—”

“How can you say that?” she asked, furious tears streaming down her face. “He was barely well enough to sign his name to that title. And you asked him to do so, knowing all along what was under that rock. Did you not?” She paused, searching his face. “Did you not?” she repeated.

He looked at her, and for the first time, Will glimpsed helplessness in the older man.

She let out a scoffing laugh and shook her head again. “I am sending Pierre home. I will not lead him on so that you can add to your despicable kingdom of wealth!”

“No. You are not,” he said, rising.

“I am. I care for him, but I do not love him. And unlike you, I do not use people to get something from them.”

He stared at her. “You already told Pierre that he does not hold your heart.”

She raised her head in surprise.

“Yes, he told me,” Wallace said. “But you may not send him home. It is up to him, what he does with your words. And he chooses to try to convince you of your folly. It is my desire you give him the chance to do so.”

Will dug his fingers into his palms as he forced himself to stay silent.

“Pierre has always gotten what he went after,” Cora said. “Just as you have. But that doesn’t mean he gets
me
.”

“You will allow his attempt to win you, at the very least.”

“No. I won’t.”

“You will. Or we shall end this little tour, and the entire clan shall be heading home to Montana. And our deal to send you to school? It shall be null and void, since you did not complete the tour….” He looked to the window, every movement speaking of weariness. “I should probably do that anyway…end it,” he muttered. “Before you or the rest are in any further danger. But this deal with Richelieu is more important than you realize.” He looked at her, appearing ten years older than he had a moment before.

Her mouth dropped open, and she wiped furiously at her tears. “You would hold even my sisters and brother against me? Threaten to turn them against me by ending the tour early?”

“Only because you’ve left me no choice, Cora. It is the only way I see to stop you from making a decision that will harm the whole family, including
you
.”

“You are…” she said, so softly that Will barely heard her, “reprehensible.” And with that, she turned and rushed out of the room.

Mr. Kensington heaved a sigh, turning to the window, hands on the end of his cane like a crutch, then looked over his shoulder at Will. “Well, go after her, young man! Make certain she is all right. And see that you get her to see my side of this.”

Will needed no further encouragement. He ran after her and, pausing, heard her sobbing somewhere close. He walked down the hall and found her in an empty room. He knocked softly, letting himself in, and then closed the door behind him. She was leaning over a desk, her torso shaking with her sobs. The sound of it threatened to break Will’s heart.

“Cora,” he said, coming beside her.

She turned to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Will,” she said, crying and crying.

He held her, stroking her back, her hair, until her tears were spent. Then he led her to a chair, sat her down in it, and passed her his handkerchief. He knelt beside her, his hand on her knee. Waiting. Ready to do anything at all he could to alleviate the pain. “I’m sorry, Cora. I know this is difficult to bear.”

She shook her head, blowing her nose into the handkerchief. “Don’t you see? He’s getting exactly what he wants! I am but a pawn in his game!”

“I know it appears as such but—”

“Are you…” she said, her brow furrowing. “Are you taking his
side
?”

“I’m only saying that perhaps you ought to—”

“What? Do everything he says? Don’t tell me you fear him too. Oh, wait. You do. You’re just as much a pawn as I.”

Will drew back, stung by her words.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “I am not myself.”

“No,” he said, rising slowly. “You’re not.”

She came to her feet too and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, Will, so sorry. I’m all twisted inside. Confused.”

Will put one hand to her back, and one to his head. “As am I.”

“I don’t know which end is up.”

“That, I understand,” he said. He gazed down at her, waiting for her to look up, and when she did, the jagged end of his anger melted.

“We can get through this, right?” she sobbed. “Somehow? Some way?”

“Somehow. Some way,” he promised.

But deep down, his heart sank. Because he had no earthly idea how.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

~William~

With their female clients all in their own quarters and their young male clients watched over by Yves and Claude, Will wandered out to the garden that night after the concert, attempting to sort out his thoughts. He again battled the urge to tell Mr. Kensington of his feelings, his desire to court Cora. But the threat of the tour ending early, and perhaps not receiving the promised bonus—his only hope of paying his uncle’s bills and returning to university in the fall—bound him as surely as if he were gagged and tied to a chair.
What have I to offer her anyway?
He had no apartment to return to; the bank had probably claimed it by now. If he professed his love and Antonio was right—if Kensington, in a rage, blocked him at every angle—how could he even support them? His only option was to continue as a bear, escorting Grand Tourists. But the memory of her on Richelieu’s arm was enough to turn him inside out.

Will spied him, then, as if summoned by whispers of his innermost thoughts. Richelieu wound past the hedge of fat, fragrant roses and sat down on a bench across the path from him. Will nodded in greeting but could not summon the strength to form a word. Richelieu was a good man. Kind. Truly, he could not come up with a decent reason for Cora to turn him away, other than one.

He loved her and wanted her for himself.

“Let her go, man,” Richelieu said, looking up at him, his hands gripping either side of him. His tone was not unkind. “She’s better off with me. We both know it.”

Will studied him, only the ridge of his brow and nose and chin visible in the moonlight. He pretended confusion. “I’m sorry?”

Richelieu sighed and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “There is no need to feign ignorance,” he said gently. “I know the truth of it. I do not fear the fact that she cares for you. Because she cares for me, too.”

Will mirrored his stance, leaning forward too. “Does she?”

Richelieu paused a moment. “Perhaps I’m deluding myself. The ways of women are somewhat of a mystery, are they not? All I ask is that you give her some distance to sort out her truest feelings.”

“I am hardly in a position to pursue her. If only I had the luxury of such a convenience…” he said, failing to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Richelieu let out a scoffing laugh. “You do not even recognize your own advantage. Close to her, every day, from morn to night. Sharing new experiences and seeing new vistas together.” He shook his head and threw out his splayed hands. “Add to that the allure of a forbidden affair—when her father, currently suffering her renewed disfavor, has explicitly asked her to entertain
my
affections…. No. It is up to you, Will. If she is meant to be with you, she will continue to resist my pursuit. But if she is meant to be with me, if you allow her some distance—of the heart, even though you are in such close physical proximity—she might see me with new eyes. Might you not allow her the grace to choose between us?”

Will stared at him, thinking through what he was saying. Was it fair to tie Cora to him, when it seemed so completely hopeless? Truly, he could not see a way for them. Not until the tour was over and both were home and free of Wallace Kensington’s power—if there would ever be such a time—and he was free of Stuart’s debts.

Wasn’t true love able to weather all?

And yet wasn’t true love also unselfish? Wanting only the best for the other person?

Richelieu seemed to sense his internal shift. “So you’ll allow it, then. A bit of distance. Both of us will soon find out about Cora’s truest feelings.”

“Is it truly fair, though?” Will said, finding his voice. “Two suitors can only both be considered when both show up at a lady’s door. If I give her ‘distance,’ as you suggest, how is she not to take that as rejection and fall into your arms?”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say,” Richelieu said.

“They also say, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’”

Richelieu took a deep breath. “Give me the chance. If I’m not the right man for her, even by becoming, how you say,
within sight
, then she will send me home.”

Will swallowed hard.
Lord, wisdom. I need Your wisdom….

“Consider it, William,” Richelieu said, rising. He reached out a hand, offering it to Will. “Isn’t it fair? To wager that the right man will win her heart?”

He couldn’t risk it. Declaring himself to her father. Not yet. Not without bringing them both down. They just needed more time. More time…

Will stood up, even though his knees trembled beneath him. And then he reached out to shake the nobleman’s hand, feeling vaguely like Judas.

~Cora~

I hovered in the ladies’ salon for as long as I could, powdering and repowdering my nose. But I finally reentered the grand baroque hall that contained what had to be two hundred men and women dressed in Victorian finery, many of whom were taking instruction on a unique waltz that allowed for the wide hoop skirts the women all wore. I could feel the lingering glances of men as I passed but ignored them, not wishing to invite any of them to approach.

I searched the hall for a familiar face, eager to avoid my dreadful father, wishing I could dance with Will—who seemed distant today—but giving in to the fact that it would probably be Pierre with whom I danced this night. I spied Lillian on the arm of an attentive, rather wolfish-looking blond man and watched as they turned. He bent to say something in her ear, and she giggled and flashed a smile at him even as she blushed prettily.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Was I merely feeling protective over my little sister? Or was it intuition—a godly warning that this might be one of our attackers?

“My, you look lovely tonight, Cora,” Art said, nodding to me as he and Hugh approached.

“Indeed,” Hugh said, looking me over from head to toe.

I shook my head at him. “I was about to say you two looked like fine Victorian gentlemen, but perhaps that’s only an apt description of
one
of you.”

“Come now. A man cannot be blamed for his masculine appetites,” Hugh said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Go. Find someone with whom to dance before you say something we both regret,” I said. He was incorrigible, but I was beginning to recognize his act. His role, as if it were a mere script. Did everyone in this crowd have a role to play? Was anyone allowed to be as they were, created by God, following His lead? I looked to Vivian dancing with Andrew and thought of her onetime love for a servant’s son. Andrew, dutifully seeing to his intended but simmering beneath the surface. Felix drifted by, a beautiful woman in his arms, and I suddenly could see him ten years hence, still dancing, still moving, still resisting our father’s desire for him to make something of himself—but even his role as a playboy seemed just that…a role. I glimpsed Will for a moment. He was leaving the hall. I thought of his desire to be an architect, his desire to be with me…neither of which seemed entirely possible.

Even we girls now played our parts as bait. I again found Lillian and her dance partner, drifting toward me as the music played on. What was it about him that troubled me? It was good for her to enjoy a man’s attention for once. She looked lovely and was of age to accept suitors. Perhaps that was it…I simply saw her as my little sister, just discovered, not a woman grown. But this man was looking at her as if she were ripe for the plucking. Just as Art had looked at her, these past weeks.

I eased a bit when I saw Antonio, arms crossed, not ten steps away, intently watching them both. His expression made me smile—he was as filled with consternation and wariness as any doting father. I made myself take a breath—as best I could, anyway, given the tight corset I wore.