Leslie LaFoy (7 page)

Apparently satisfied, Abigail set her cup onto the saucer and then rose to her feet, saying, “Now, I'm off to prepare a room for Mr. Stennett. One for Havers, too. I assumed that Mr. Stennett would be at least staying through lunch and instructed Primrose to cook accordingly. Is there anything else you'd like for me to do?”

“If you see me going for Mr. Stennett's throat…” Lindsay said, rising and heading toward the door.

“Stop you,” Mrs. Beechum finished.

“No,” she corrected. “Turn your back.”

J
ACK SORTED THROUGH
the papers yet again, his amazement no less than it had been the first three times through the stack of correspendence. Henry was having renovations done to his house. Agatha wanted to buy some land on Long Island. He knew about western land values, but still… At that price there had better be a gold mine on the acreage. Payment on a warehouse in St. Louis was overdue. The MacPhaull Coal Company looked to have all but washed away in a recent flood. And the Todasca Canal Company had collapsed, leaving the investors holding the bag. Jesus. What a mess.

“And there's more.”

He looked up to see Lindsay in the doorway, her shoulder against the jamb and her arms folded over her midriff. “How much more?” he asked, tossing the letters aside.

“There was a run, five weeks ago, on the Two Rivers Bank in Frankfort, Kentucky. We had to close the doors when the money ran out. We're trying to call in the outstanding loans to meet depositor demands, but it's trickling at best.” She smiled tightly. “And then there's the Macon and Charlotte Road Company, which encountered a not-so-dry creek bed and is having to be rerouted. The investors have been asked to put in another ten thousand apiece. We're in for twenty-five thousand already.”

Jackson sagged back into the chair. Deciding he could only take the bull by the horns, he asked, “What's the total net worth of the MacPhaull Company? In today's market.”

“In today's market and under today's circumstances …” She shrugged. “If you were going to sell off everything by sundown, I'd guess that you'd net something in the realm of two hundred thousand dollars. That would include both houses—Henry's and this one—and all the personal property. And, of course, it's assuming that you can find buyers for any of it.”

It was a huge assumption. One he wasn't willing to make. “What was the estimated value of total assets before the Panic?”

“Close to seven hundred thousand,” she supplied, coming into the room. She took the seat directly across the desk from him and added, “Our biggest single income source is
the mining operation in western Virginia. It's the most reliable as well. If you're willing to consider advice, I think it would be worth whatever it costs to put it back into operation.”

Jackson pulled the letter from the mine manager from the stack and considered the figures. “Is this man, Snyder, pretty accurate in his estimates?”

“I usually add another twenty percent and come closer than he does.”

“Have you got the forty-eight thousand to put it back to rights?”

“Not in hand. But we can come up with it if we sell off some properties. Richard and I were discussing the possibilities when you and Mr. Vanderhagen arrived.”

Jackson studied her, not making any effort to conceal the appraisal. She met it just as squarely as she'd answered his rapid-fire questions. God, the woman had backbone. He wondered how many men had seen only the petite, well-curved package and not bothered to discover the interesting woman underneath all the silk and lace and bows. He'd lay down money that her curves owed precious little to a corset.

Business. Clearing his throat, Jackson rose and put the correspondence back into the valise. “The first order of business needs to be a full accounting. I need to see a list of all the property owned by the company. For each property, I'll need its estimated pre-Panic and current value as well as a profit-and-loss statement. Where do I get my hands on that information?”

“At the office,” she replied, rising smoothly. “Benjamin keeps the accounts and he's very thorough. May I accompany you?”

He cocked a brow. “You're asking for permission?”

“You haven't defined the manner in which you expect me to conduct myself.”

He was being baited and he knew it, but it was ground they needed to cover anyway. “Are you planning to legally oppose your father's Will?”

She smiled ruefully. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘cutting off one's nose to spite one's face'?” When he
nodded, she further explained, “Since it would cost more in legal fees to fight you than it will to let you have what you want, I think there's more to be gained in cooperating than in opposing. You promised to take only what you need to retire my father's debts in Texas. I'll believe that you're an honest man until proven otherwise. However, if you give me even the slightest reason to suspect that you're not a man of your word, I'll see that you sincerely regret the day you ever thought to come east.”

They had a formal truce. How long it would hold was anyone's guess. But an adversary in constant sight made for a more secure peace. “All right, Miss MacPhaull, if you want my expectations of you defined, I'll oblige,” Jackson declared, coming around the end of the desk to stand right in front of her. “You're to consider yourself my aide-decamp. Where I go, you go. You're to supply me with whatever information I require. What information you don't possess, you're to find for me. When asked for your opinion, you'll render it honestly and completely. Once I've made a decision, you'll support it—no matter your personal feelings on the matter—and see to its execution in a timely and efficient manner. Most importantly, you're not going to sabotage my efforts to bring some sort of order to this chaos. Is all that acceptable?”

Her chin came up. “And if it isn't?” she countered.

“Don't push, Lindsay,” he said quietly. “I'll push back. And you might not like where it takes us.”

She studied him a long moment, fire flashing in her eyes. “Then it's acceptable,” she said tautly. “Do you want to go to the office now or after luncheon?”

It wasn't what she'd wanted to say; he could sense it. For whatever reason, she'd made a calculated decision to back down and he was grateful for it. Having won the first—and a crucial—round in their contest, Jackson decided that he could be a bit gracious. “It makes no difference to me. Which would you prefer?”

“After luncheon. Primrose has it ready now,” she said firmly, turning and walking away. “Although, truth be told, I'd much rather go now and get it done. Patience has never been one of my stronger virtues.”

He followed her out of the study, watching the seductive sway of her skirts and thinking that her confession didn't bode well. Two impatient people all but tied wrist and ankle was bad enough, but two impatient people locking horns over something they both wanted … Jackson knew to the center of his bones that it was just a matter of time before Lindsay MacPhaull decided to see if he'd meant what he said about pushing back. He did, of course. And where they ended up at the end of the match all depended on just how much tolerance she had for risk. Something told him she liked dancing on edges and that the idea of falling didn't frighten her all that much.

For him, though … There were certain kinds of falling that he didn't ever want to do again.

L
INDSAY LOOKED OUT THE CARRIAGE WINDOW
they ade their way back across town, acutely feeling both the confines of the vehicle and the tension in the silence stretching between herself and Jackson Stennett. He didn't seem disposed to do anything about breaking the latter and she couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't come out as a tacit admission of her discomfort in the situation. Better to maintain the appearance of poise, she told herself, than to provide evidence of lacking it. Her predicament was bad enough already without surrendering what little advantage she had. Damn her father. Jackson Stennett would like to kill him? Well, the Texas cattleman would have to wait his turn. All things considered, she had suffered longer and deeper for her father's decisions than Jackson Stennett had or ever would.

The real suffering she'd have to endure hadn't yet begun, though, and she knew it. If Stennett was even half as intelligent and business-wise as she thought, he'd take one look at the books and the true nightmare would begin. He'd ask questions and in the end she wouldn't have any
choice but to answer them honestly. By the time they sat across from each other at dinner tonight, she wouldn't have a scrap of pride or a remnant of illusion left to hide behind. If there was a God and He was indeed benevolent, Stennett wouldn't finish shredding the already tattered facade of the MacPhaull public appearances. If God didn't intervene, then she'd have to. And if she failed … No, failure simply wasn't an option.

“Got your course plotted?”

Her pulse quickened, but whether from Stennett having so accurately guessed the nature of her thoughts or from the way his easy, amused drawl strummed her senses, she couldn't tell. It didn't matter, she assured herself, meeting his gaze. She couldn't afford to back away long enough to figure it out. Lindsay offered him what she hoped passed for a confident smile. “It happens that I do.”

“Would you care to share it with me?”

“No, not particularly.”

The corners of his mouth slowly inched upward and an intense light glimmered in his eyes. “Fair enough. I figure I have a pretty good idea what it's going to be anyway. So tell me how come your housekeeper has only one arm. I gather by her ability to compensate that she lost it quite a while back.”

“She was in a horrible carriage accident. It's a miracle that she lived at all.”

He nodded and then cocked a brow to ask, “And how did Richard Patterson end up in a wheeled chair?”

“A carriage accident.”

“Same one as Mrs. Beechum?”

“Yes.”

“Now in Texas,” he drawled, “a housekeeper and the head of the company together in a carriage wouldn't turn a head or even be cause for a blink. But I haven't always lived in Texas and I'm thinking that New York tongues wagged for weeks when they caught wind of the situation.”

His intelligence clearly went beyond business matters. Lindsay considered her options and decided that frankness was the best choice. “Actually, the tongues wagged for
years
, not that it was any of their business. Frankly, I don't
see that it's any of yours either, but in the interest of keeping you from inadvertently putting your foot in it and creating an awkward situation, I'll tell you the story.”

His smile was appreciative and perhaps just a bit apologetic. “She's a very nice lady. I like her.”

“Abigail is a good person and I'm very thankful she came into my life. I wouldn't hurt her for anything in the world. I expect you to keep what I'm about to tell you a closely guarded secret. And please don't let her know that I've spoken of it with you. She'd be mortified.”

“I'll take it to the grave with me.”

Lindsay studied him and decided that he hadn't made the promise lightly, that he could be trusted. “She was married to a Mr. Elijah Beechum, a banker well known for his miserly ways, both in terms of his affections and his money keeping. I was no more than five when the accident happened, just eight when I asked my father about it and he told me what he knew. I don't know how Richard and Abigail met; no one's ever said. And no one's ever said how or why they came to be in the carriage together that day. Assumptions, however, were made.”

“That they were having an affair.”

Lindsay nodded. “Abigail was hovering on the edge of death when her husband divorced her, leaving her penniless and homeless. She went away for a year or so; to convalesce at a distant cousin's home in New Jersey. Some have gone so far as to suggest that she gave birth to Richard's child while away, but I think that's just a vicious, groundless rumor. My father claimed to have made discreet inquiries into the matter and he found no proof of a child.

“Regardless, from all accounts, she was only grudgingly welcomed at her cousin's home and she was asked to leave as soon as she was physically able. Richard, once he'd recovered as fully as he could, begged my mother to take Abigail in and at least give her a roof over her head and honorable employment.”

“Your mother had a kind heart.”

“She didn't do it to be nice, Mr. Stennett. My mother was a very complicated woman and her motives for doing anything were always complex. I doubt very much
whether considerations of kindness came into her decision at all.”

His head tilted to the side and his brows knit, Stennett quietly asked, “So why did she do it? Your best guess.”

“I think she saw in it the opportunity to humiliate someone who had been her social equal.”

“That's pretty damn spiteful.”

“I'll never forgive my father for abandoning us, Mr. Stennett, but I can understand why he left. In looking back at my childhood, I've often wondered why he stayed as long as he did.”

“Why didn't Richard marry Mrs. Beechum when the dust settled?”

“Richard was changed by the accident,” she said simply. “I know that he's always considered his survival as a cruel sentence issued by a black-hearted God. Before the accident he was quite the man about town. After the accident … It was as though the light in him went out. Even as a small child, I noticed it. As far as I know, he and Abigail haven't spoken since that god-awful day.”

“Does he still have feelings for her?”

“Not that I've ever heard him voice.”

Stennett nodded slowly and then asked, “Does she still have feelings for Richard?”

“I believe so. While you were going through the correspondence before luncheon, she and I shared a pot of tea. She'd been crying before I got there.”

“You didn't ask her why?”

“There's an unspoken rule among the MacPhaulls, Mr. Stennett. We don't talk about unpleasant and upsetting realities. It's one thing to be insulting and demanding. It's quite another to rationally discuss a fundamental truth that challenges our illusions of having a perfect life. In fact, among the MacPhaulls, the former is used to avoid the latter. And very effectively, I might add. Amidst all the screaming and foot stamping, it's utterly impossible to have any sort of calm and logical discussion about financial matters, personal heartaches, the issue of responsibility, or the necessity of sacrifice.”