To Dream Again (49 page)

She stopped, her voice breaking, and she lowered her head to stare at the floor, watching the tears fall unchecked to form dark circles on the wood.

"Who will keep me from turning into a bitter, lonely, dried-up shell of a woman?" she whispered. "Because that is what I was before you came, and that is what I will become if you leave."

She fell silent and waited, not daring to look at him, unable to breathe. The silence seemed to last an eternity, before she heard him take a step toward her. Then another. Then another.

His hands fell on her shoulders, and she let out her breath in a soft little sob of hope as he turned her around. He brought one hand to her cheek, but she did not look up.

"I love you," she said, her voice shaking. "And I need you more than you could ever know. Don't leave me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears did not stop. She waited, hoping this one wish came true.
I'm falling, Nathaniel
.
Please catch me
.

He bent his head and kissed away tears one by one. "I won't leave you, not ever. I love you. God only knows what kind of life we'll have."

She opened her eyes. She looked at him and saw the promise in his eyes. "We'll have a life together," she whispered and rested her cheek against his chest. She leaned into his strength and felt his arms wrap around her. Now, when everything they'd worked for was falling apart, now, when all the plans were unraveling, now, she felt safer than she ever had in her life.

"Mara, did you really tear up the bank draft and throw it in Adrian's face?"

She lifted her head to find him smiling down at her with all that open tenderness. "Yes," she answered. "And Honoria Montrose saw the whole thing. Your brother shall have a great deal of explaining to do."

He pulled her back against him and kissed her. "What a pity."

The letter arrived in the post the morning after his confrontation with Mara Elliot. Adrian stared down at the note in Honoria's childishly round handwriting, unable to believe the words even as he read them. He'd thought her satisfied by his explanations of the scene she had witnessed, but obviously he had been mistaken. He read the letter again, and he knew his mistake had been a fatal one.

Viscount Leyland, you are a man of some admirable qualities, but the scene I witnessed yesterday forces me to reconsider our engagement. I cannot, in all good conscience, marry a man who would deliberately set out to ruin his own brother, whatever his reasons. Further, I am appalled that you should use my name and influence for such dishonorable purposes.

I have sent a statement to the social register of
The Times
announcing the dissolution of our engagement by mutual consent. Should you choose to contest that statement and bring a breach of promise suit against me, I am bold enough to say that it will be futile. I'm certain that you would not wish to have my investigators explore the matter of your fight with your brother too deeply.

I am journeying to Paris forthwith. Please do not try to contact me. I feel there would be no point to a conversation between us. It would only be painful and embarrassing for us both. My regrets. Miss Honoria Montrose.

P.S.—I have enclosed your ring.

By the time he finished reading the letter again, Adrian's disbelief had chilled to cold rage. Of all the impudence! That fat, American cow lecturing him on honor when she'd had the gall to inform the social register of
The Times
. God, the news would be all over London by this afternoon.

He crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it across the study with a curse. What would he do now? Without the promise of Honoria's money, his creditors would be swarming around him within hours.

He reached one hand toward the bell pull, intending to ring for tea, but changed his mind. Walking to the sideboard, he reached for one of the crystal decanters there and poured himself a whisky instead. To his disgust, he noticed his hand shook as he lifted the tumbler to his lips.

He leaned back against the sideboard. All he could think of was the scandal, the humiliation. The sound of shattering glass startled him, and he realized he'd thrown the tumbler against the wall.

Adrian spent the day in his study, striving to find a way out. Lovett informed the constant stream of bankers and solicitors who came calling that his master was unavailable as Adrian sat behind his desk, composing letters to influential acquaintances. He tried to grasp what had happened as he scrawled words on paper. How had all his carefully laid plans gone awry?

It was all Nathaniel's fault.

The realization came to him and he paused, his grip tightening around the quill pen in his hand. Of course, Nathaniel was to blame. Adrian jabbed the nib of his pen into the palm of his hand, icy rage numbing the pain.

If it hadn't been for Nathaniel, none of this would have happened. If Nathaniel hadn't come back to England, if he hadn't dared to go into competition against him, if his impudent chit of a mistress hadn't come along and ruined everything with Honoria, Adrian knew he would not now be facing ruin and disgrace.

It was all Nathaniel's fault.

Adrian repeated those words to himself as he stabbed his palm with the point of the pen again and again, drawing blood, not even feeling the pain.

***

Nathaniel stood beside the cart in the alley behind the warehouse. "Two hundred trains to Whiteley's and three hundred to Gamage's," he told Boggs. "And be careful. God knows what my brother might try."

"Right-o, guv'nor." Boggs swung up onto the cart beside his son, Alfred. "It'll go rough on yer brother if he stands in our way." The workman pulled at his cap. "We'll be back in an 'our or two for the next load."

Nathaniel gave him a thumbs-up gesture as the cart loaded with crates of trains lurched forward. He watched it roll down the alley and disappear around the corner. Then he walked back into the warehouse.

He paused beside the table where Billy, Davy, and Millie Boggs, and all four of Emma Logan's children were checking train sets under Emma's watchful eye. He paused beside Emma's chair. "How's things in here?"

"Smashin'!" Billy closed the lid on another case and set it aside.

"Emma?"

The woman looked up from the train set she was checking, and she smiled at him. "They're working 'ard, sir. You can trust me on that."

"You're a good supervisor, Emma. Keep this up and I might have you out on the production floor, supervising the men as well."

She laughed. "I don't think Mr. Lowenstein would be 'appy about that."

"Probably not." He grinned and walked away.

He made his way through assembly, where women put trains, pieces of track, batteries, and sheets of printed instructions into wooden cases and stamped them with the Chase-Elliot trademark. As he passed by, he paused often to give a compliment or make a suggestion, knowing there were many long hours of work ahead and that a little encouragement went a long way.

They had until Friday to deliver those trains, and Nathaniel would feel better once the trains were out of the factory and safely in the stores, just in case Adrian tried some new scheme.

He entered the production floor, stopping occasionally to watch the men as they cut sheets of tin into pieces, molded them into locomotives, passenger cars, and train stations. Again, he took every possible opportunity to give a compliment or exchange a joke or two as he made his way to where Percy stood.

The secretary looked worried. Nathaniel paused beside him, and the two of them watched as welders soldered locomotives together. "Are you all right, Percy?" he shouted over the din.

The secretary gave him a dubious glance. "I don't believe I have the qualities necessary to be a good supervisor, sir," he yelled back.

Nathaniel grinned and took another look around. "I don't know, Percy. Everyone seems to be working very hard. I think you're doing well."

Percy shook his head. "I'll be glad when Mrs. Elliot and Michael return."

"Me, too." He clapped Percy on the shoulder. "I'll take over. It's pretty late in the day, and no one's taken a break. Everybody's probably hungry and thirsty. Why don't you go find Mrs. O'Brien and have her bring sandwiches and jugs of water for everybody?"

"Yes, sir." Percy departed, grateful for the change of duties, and Nathaniel went up to the mezzanine where he had a better view.

He leaned against the rail and watched the work below as he waited for Mara and Michael to return from their meeting with Solomon Leibowitz. When they came through the front doors a few moments later, Mara immediately looked up to see him watching her from the mezzanine. Even from his position thirty feet above her, he could see her wide smile as she nodded emphatically and waved a slip of paper at him.

He smiled back at her and made a thumbs-up gesture to show he understood. The slow, sweet warmth of satisfaction washed over him, even though he knew it might not last. Leibowitz had obviously agreed to give them the money to pay off their loan, but Nathaniel had reneged on his deal with Adrian, and he knew his brother would not let that pass. Still, he couldn't regret what they had done. He just hoped Mara would never come to regret it either.

They paid off Joslyn Brothers that afternoon, and Nathaniel's worries eased somewhat. The following evening, Finch brought the news of Adrian's misfortunes to their attention, and Nathaniel's worries eased a bit more. Finch brought the huge stack of newspapers to the factory with the dry pronouncement, "Your brother's in a bit of trouble." The announcement that his engagement had been broken had made the morning newspapers, and the news that creditors were calling in all his debts made the evening editions.

Busy with delivering trains to stores, Nathaniel and Mara didn't take the time to read all the articles, but a quick scan of
The Times
gave them the important points. Lord Leyland was bankrupt, all his assets had been confiscated, and his former fiancée was in Paris, refusing to comment on the reasons for her broken engagement. Although Mara and Nathaniel suspected what had really happened, they didn't care about the details. They just breathed a prayer of thanks, went back to work, and hoped their troubles with Adrian were over.

***

Adrian's letters to Lord Ashton, Lord Fitzhugh, and Lord Severn were answered with gushing sympathy and regretful refusal. Times were difficult, what with passage of the Reform Acts and fixed rents making money so scarce. Without assistance, Adrian knew he was doomed.

Desperate, he telegraphed to Honoria, but a coldly polite reply from her lawyer was his only answer. Over the next few days, he contacted every business and social acquaintance he knew, but without the promise of marriage to a wealthy heiress to back him up, he had become a very bad risk. He received a great deal of sympathy, but no assistance, and with every sympathetic pat on the back he received, Adrian's hatred for Nathaniel grew.

Creditors made good on their promise and began confiscating his assets. The Mayfair house, with all its contents, was first. Adrian stood helplessly by as bank clerks swarmed over the house like an infestation of ants; he watched as workmen marched his furnishings out the front doors; he listened as all his possessions, including his beloved art collection, were auctioned off in the forecourt to the delight of the curious onlookers peering through the gates. Each time the auctioneer cried, "Sold!" and pounded his gavel, the crowd cheered, and Adrian's hatred for Nathaniel grew.

Chase Toys came next. All the equipment was auctioned, all the inventory confiscated, the building put up for sale. He walked through the vacant factory, and the voice of his father echoed through his mind, imagined tirades of what a mess Adrian had made of the company. With each reprimand, each recrimination, Adrian's hatred for Nathaniel grew.

Creditors could not take the entailed estate in Devon, but they stripped it of all its valuables. They took the villa at Brighton. They took his stocks, his bonds, the ring he'd given Honoria, and all his other jewels. They took away his influence and his reputation.

But they could not take away his pride, and they could not take away his hatred. Adrian sat on an empty crate in the empty mansion in Mayfair, the shreds of a letter ordering him to vacate the premises scattered across the bare floor and an empty bottle of whisky in his bandaged hand. Creditors had turned off the gas jets and had taken all the crystal lamps, so he sat in the dark, planning Nathaniel's death.

***

Mara and Nathaniel were too busy making trains to spend much time contemplating Adrian's problems. They changed their bankers to Kaplan & Sons, and spent their time delivering trains. By Friday evening, all orders for the Christmas season had been filled but one.

Mara placed the last box on the cart and watched as Nathaniel climbed up beside Boggs. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"I'll wait for you here. I've closed the factory and sent everybody home. I've given everyone tomorrow morning off. With pay."