Ring of Secrets (42 page)

Mr. Carroll cleared his throat as he studied the document before him. A moment later he looked up at Bennet, then Mother, and finally Archie. “Thank you for your patience with me. I do regret I was out of town when you received this dreadful news. I am especially sorry to hear of it because I had a communication from Mr. Lane not two weeks ago addressing the issue of his will, and the fact that he wanted to wait to change it until he was in possession of Clefton after his uncle's expected demise.”

Ben winced—first at the casual mention of death and then at the implications—and darted a glance at Archie. He sat stone still, his jaw clenched.

The lawyer sighed. “I understand there had been some discussion in recent months about leaving all the family holdings in New York to Archibald, since all the English property would go to Bennet. Unfortunately, as I said, this change was never made, as Mr. Lane was never the official possessor of Clefton.”

Another glance showed Ben the whitening of Archie's knuckles.

Mr. Carroll held up a hand. “Do allow me to stress, Archibald, that your father was fully in favor of this proposed change. He had every intention of leaving the American property to you. And as I understand it was your brother's suggestion to begin with, if he wishes I can assist in the transference of deeds from Bennet to you—though again, wisdom dictates we wait until Bennet is the master of Clefton.”

Archie jerked his head in what he probably meant to be a nod.

Ben pressed his lips together. “I certainly intend to rectify this, yes.”

“I imagined you would.” The lawyer smiled and focused on Mother. “You, of course, receive your widow's portion, Mrs. Lane. And as stated in the will as it was written before Clefton was ever at issue, Archibald receives the house and property you brought with you to the marriage, as well as a sum of money I will specify in a few moments, and the investments in several businesses. Everything else—the house here in New York, the one he occupies in New Haven, his family's businesses, and the greatest portion of sterling—goes to Bennet.”

Ben drew in a long breath. If one didn't consider Clefton, then Father had made every attempt to divide the property fairly. Mother would be cared for, and both he and Archie received enough money and interests in businesses to ensure their continued well-being.

But Clefton still must be considered, and 'twas obviously on Archie's mind. Perhaps they had received nearly equal portions in the will now, but when one added the expansive holdings in England into the mix…well, a volatile reaction was inevitable.

Ben paid careful attention to the details Father had laid out, especially as concerned his portion and Mother's, because providing for her would largely fall to him. Assuming she would allow it after his plan was carried out.

When Mr. Carroll finally left, Ben stopped his brother with a hand upon his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I will make this right. You know that, don't you?”

Archie turned his head toward the door and shrugged Ben's hand off. “Of course you will. Perfect Benny always does what he must.”

Nay. All he could do now was sigh as his brother stormed out saying something about the work awaiting him at the barracks.

Mother stepped to his side. “He will come around, Bennet.”

“I know.” But not in time. Not before the truth came out. Though they barely tolerated one another in person, he hated to think that a wedge would come permanently between them. Friends or not, they were brothers. Perhaps Clefton would be enough to secure peace. “Will you excuse me, Mother? I need to write to Uncle Lane.”

“Of course, dear. And then will you go see Winnie? If so, ask the Hamptons to dinner tomorrow night.” She took a step away but then paused, brows arched. “For that matter, when are you going to ask her to join us as your wife? Have you need of an engagement gift? I have been pondering it, and I think the emerald ring your father gave me would be perfect.”

Those thoughts were far sweeter than the others clamoring around his mind. “I intend to ask soon, yes. Actually, I had planned to speak with you about jewelry the day we received the letter from my uncle. Now…well, as soon as the time is right.”

“The time is right whenever you make it so, Bennet. Given the way she has stood beside us through all this, I daresay no one will be surprised if an engagement follows quickly on the heels of this loss, especially given your need to hurry to England.”

That again. “You have an emerald, you say?”

“Come.”

He followed her up the stairs, into her room, and waited while she sorted through a mix of shining, sparkling pieces. She straightened a minute later and held out a large, rectangular emerald clasped in a circle of gold.

“The fit should be good. Her hands seem much the size mine were when I could still wear it.”

Ben studied its green depths a moment more and then slid it into his waistcoat's inner pocket. “I thank you, Mother.”

Her grin was indulgent, and the brightest he had seen from her in weeks. “The only thanks I need is a daughter and then a few grandchildren to dote on.”

He managed a smile around the heaviness in his chest. “I am glad you finally see in her what I do.”

Her laughter shed light on the whole house, it seemed. “As am I, Bennet. I had begun to think you quite daft.”

She may think him so again shortly. Murmuring another thanks
and a farewell, he left her room and headed to his own. At his desk he uncapped his inkwell and then chose a quill and the best paper he had. He heaved a long breath and began.

Dear Uncle Lane,

News of my father's unexpected death has hit us all as a severe blow. I know it must have been painful for you as well, and we all send our love and respect. And while I appreciate your need for an heir to teach in his stead, I urge you to consider my brother as that heir rather than me.

I am not who you think me.

It took him several minutes to pen his reasons, to expose his heart for the first time since he left Yale. To immortalize what would make him an exile to those who shared his blood.

He squeezed his eyes shut after he signed his name. If he sent this, if he held to it, he could lose it all. Everything that mattered. Mother, Archie…Winter. What if she refused him when she discovered the truth?

Nay, she would forgive it. He knew in the depths of his heart she would. But with his family he hadn't the same certainty. So though he may have the woman he loved, he could very well be asking her to join a family fractured, one who had thrust him away. He would be able to provide for her needs, even her comforts, but he knew what she most wanted was love and understanding.

Well. He would confess before he proposed. And if she accepted him, then they would build the family her heart so needed.

He scattered sand over the ink to dry it, poured it off again, and folded the paper. Then he slid it into an envelope. A dab of wax provided a seal, and he penned the direction. A moment later he left his room, caught the servant headed out with the day's post, and sent his fate on its way.

Then he grabbed his cloak and whipped it around his shoulders. He would go see Winter. If he were going to lose her too, he would just as soon know it before he followed Benedict Arnold to Holy Ground.

Winter tilted her face up to receive the kiss of warm sunshine and smiled into the cool whisper of air. Soon enough she would be trapped inside while snow and ice overtook her world, but today was a beautiful promise of what awaited her in spring.

A few more weeks and they would reach the anniversary of when Bennet first stumbled into her life. Thinking of it now, she could scarcely remember the panic his penetrating gaze had inspired, the determination to stay away from him at all costs.

How far they had come—and how twisted a road they had traveled to get here.

Perhaps they could marry on that date. A late November wedding, before winter gripped them too wholly. Then they would still have ample time to settle into his home in Connecticut before classes resumed after Christmas. She could hardly wait to see him in that paradise he had told her about so many times, the laboratory with all his favorite equipment.

Footfalls interrupted her reverie, but she didn't mind it when she saw Bennet turn the corner and step into the garden. What she
did
mind was the concern that saturated his eyes. She stood from her bench and held out her hands. “Did the reading of the will not go well?”

Rather than clasp her fingers, he walked into her embrace and gathered her close. She probably ought to pull away for the sake of propriety, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed it as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“It went as expected.”

“I'm sorry.” She stroked a hand over the unpowdered hair gathered below his hat and shivered in delight when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

An “ahem” alerted them to Freeman's presence nearby, but Bennet didn't pull away. “I love you.” He kissed his way up her neck and over her jaw.

Heaven. Perhaps they could marry sooner than she had been thinking, if ever he decided to ask. “And I love you.”

“Ahem.”

Bennet grinned even as his lips met hers for another of those brief, tantalizing kisses that he so rarely found the chance to give her. Then he put a bit of space between them. “For your sake, Freeman.”

“I do appreciate it, Mr. Lane.”

Winter heard the note of laughter in Freeman's voice but focused instead on Bennet and the desperation that seemed to radiate from his gaze. For her? No, she didn't think so. She lifted a hand and settled it against his cheek. “I don't like seeing you like this.”

Amusement softened the edge of his expression. He lifted a brow. “Like what? Amorous?”

A laugh tickled its way out. “Nay, that I like quite well. But you seem…unhappy. Distressed.”

He removed a hand from her waist to rub at his neck. “'Tis thoughts of my family and all the changes to it.”

“I assumed as much. I have been praying.”

“I assumed as much. You generally are.” He dropped his other hand and took a seat on the bench.

Why was that always,
always
his response to the topic of prayer? Deflect or retreat. Winter turned to face him but held her place and folded her arms over her middle. “You know, Bennet, the Lord may be more apt to answer said prayers with an affirmative if
you
were the one to offer them up.”

His face went hard, though he seemed to try, unsuccessfully, to soften it again. “Can we discuss that later? Come, sit. I have more pressing things to speak with you about.”

“There is nothing more pressing.” The words seemed to lodge in her throat and felt like a mere murmur on her lips. “Nothing else will be resolved so long as you keep such distance between you and the Lord.”

Even the attempt at softness disappeared. “There
is
distance between me and the Lord—a universe of it. I fail to see how addressing myself to the Creator will change a jot or tittle of my life. He set it in motion long ago, but the future is up to us.”

Her fingers curled into her sides. “How can you say that?”

“How can you say otherwise?” He surged to his feet again and paced to a dormant rose bush and back again. “Do you think I have never uttered a prayer? That, had I seen some response, I would think as I do?”

Ever the scientist. Winter raised her chin. “You have recited prayers, I am certain. But unless they came from your heart, my love, 'tis like pouring two elements into beakers beside each other and then
claiming they had no reaction when mixed. How could you possibly judge such a thing if not done properly? Just so, prayers mean nothing unless they are
meant
.”

He halted before her, amusement lighting his eyes again. “I appreciate you trying to put it in terms I understand, but the analogy is feeble, my love.”

Then she would try again. She caught his hands and clasped them. “Then look at me, at us. Before July I spoke to you many a time, but how often did I ever say anything with meaning?”