Leslie LaFoy (19 page)

She couldn't. And so she kept the truth to herself. Instead, she told him about the encounter with Henry that morning and how he and Edith and Agatha couldn't come to dinner that evening because they were going to the theater. She told him about Jeb and Lucy Rutherford's baby and the apartment fire and Mrs. Kowalski and her cat. She asked him what he wanted her to do about Havers and his yet unanswered demands for better accommodations.

Richard remained still and soundless and Lindsay kept talking in order to push away the condemnation she imagined in his silence. She was still rattling on, painfully aware of how forced her conversation was, when a knock on the door mercifully spared her further effort. She opened it with a tight smile, expecting to find Havers on the other side, a tray in his hands.

It was Abigail Beechum who stood there, though, and
Lindsay's forced smile eased as she gestured the housekeeper into the room; there was no need to pretend with Abigail.

“I was passing in the hall and couldn't help hearing,” Abigail said, her gaze drifting past Lindsay to Richard's still form. “I thought perhaps …” The light in her eyes went out and a deep sadness softened her features.

“It was just me,” Lindsay supplied gently. “Trying to convince myself that I'm doing what's right, what Richard would expect of me.”

Abigail pursed her lips and, after a moment, softly sighed and turned to face Lindsay squarely. “You have good instincts and exceptional judgment. You'll do what you must, child. And, in the end, it will work out for the best.”

Lindsay swallowed back the threat of tears and managed a tremulous smile. “You have a great deal more confidence in me than I have in myself.”

“I have no more faith in you,” Abigail whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek, “than Richard has always had.”

Tears welled in Lindsay's eyes. There was no holding them back this time, and as they spilled down her cheeks, she wrapped her arms around Abigail, burying her face in her housekeeper's shoulder to quietly sob, “I am so grateful to have had you both in my life. So very grateful.”

“It will be all right, Lindsay,” Abigail crooned, holding her tight. “Trust yourself. And know that I'm here for you. Always.”

A
BATH, CLEAN CLOTHES
, clean hair, and knowing you could afford to buy food … The simplest of things were the ones that gave the greatest pleasure, Lindsay mused as she came down the stairs. Her sense of satisfaction would be complete if she found Primrose and Emile actually cooking the evening meal. The study door stood open and a movement within caught her attention. Lindsay altered her course.

Jackson sat behind the huge mahogany desk, frowning slightly as he contemplated something in the papers spread out before him. He, too, had experienced the wondrous joy of a bath and clean clothes. She saw no bandage of any sort on his head. Of course. He looked up with his eyes, meeting her gaze only briefly before he slowly assessed her from hairpins to hem and back again. His frown changed to an appreciative smile that sent an exquisite shiver through her.

Alarmed by her reaction, she seized the conversation, determined to keep it directed away from herself. “I distinctly recall Dr. Bernard telling me that he'd ordered you to bed rest for a couple of days.”

“He suggested it. I've decided to ignore it.” He motioned her into the study, saying as he did, “An offer's come in on the St. Louis property.”

At last, a bit of good news. She advanced, coming to a halt in front of the desk and accepting the document he handed her. It was from Percival Little, the prospective buyer in Boston and the senior partner of Little, Bates and Company. His was usually the last of the offers to come in. Interesting that his had been the first this time.

“How much did you ask for it?” Jackson asked.

She looked at the numbers and her heart sank. “Twice this much,” she supplied, handing the paper back. “I detest the offer-counteroffer process. It takes so much time.”

“Not to mention that it would be so much easier if everyone were direct and honest right from the start about what they wanted and expected.”

For some reason she felt that he wasn't speaking about just business transactions, that he was also making a veiled reference to personal relationships. If she were to be honest and direct with him about their relationship, what would she say? With no clear answer, she opted for a general truth, “Unfortunately, that's not the way the world works.”

He considered her for a long moment and then began to sort the papers as he drawled, “No, it's not, is it?”

And he was disappointed by that fact. Lindsay battled the impulse to apologize. “The reporters are going to be here soon, Jack. They're going to ask about the fire. There will also be questions about the MacPhaull Company in general.”

He leaned back in the chair, his gaze steady and direct. “And what do you intend to tell them?”

“I don't know,” she admitted, feeling her pulse quicken. His eyes were so dark and yet so soft. As before, she felt her soul being drawn into the depths of them. Her thoughts didn't scatter; they softly drifted to the edge of her awareness.

“Lindsay?”

She drew a deep breath and with great effort pulled her mind back to business. “There's no avoiding the fact that Richard is incapacitated,” she said, settling into a chair and
gripping the arms to ground herself. “If the reporters don't already know it, then it's only a matter of days before someone in the business community notices his absence and the questions will begin in earnest. There are two ways to go from that point, both having distinct advantages and disadvantages. Which to choose depends on what you intend to do with the assets and how you want to go about it.”

“What are the choices?”

It was a straightforward business question. Why did she hear it as being wrapped in black velvet? Lindsay tightened her grip on the chair. “In the first one, I say that while Richard is indeed ill, he's expected to recover fully and that he continues to advise me as he's always done. The circumstances of the MacPhaull Company remain essentially unchanged and business is being conducted as usual.”

“All of it a bald-faced lie.”

“Yes,” she admitted, hearing the censure in his voice. Again, she fought back the urge to apologize. “I don't like it, either,” she offered instead. “But in making it our official truth, the vultures can be kept at bay. What assets you need to dispose of can be sold for higher prices if the buyers don't know that the company's in both turmoil and desperate straits. The drawback is that if you intend to tell Henry and Agatha the truth, the reporters will soon be back here knowing that they've been lied to. My brother and sister are not very skilled at keeping cards close to their vests. If they know something, all of New York soon knows it.”

“The other choice?”

“Basically, we tell them the truth,” she answered. “I tell them that Richard's health is immaterial because, in my father's recent passing, both the ownership and the management of the company came into your control. I then paint you as a paragon of business acumen. I'd probably even go so far as to tell the tale of your heroic rescues in the midst of the fire. I would, of course, neglect to mention that your objective is to dismantle the company as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

“That keeping the vultures at bay concern again,” he observed, watching her intently. “And what would be the advantages and disadvantages of this course?”

“The primary advantage lies in it being the truth. Honesty is always easier to live with than lies, don't you think?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Again, she had the distinct impression that he was referring to relationships outside of business. “With the truth, we wouldn't have to explain why you're involved in the decision-making when people ask. And ask they will, Jack. Secondly, if people know that you're decisive and brave as well as a competent businessman, you'll have their respect even before you go into any buy-sell negotiations with them.”

“And the disadvantages?”

“In a business sense, people are going to be watching your actions very closely. There will be some who'll assume that you do indeed intend to dismantle the company. While you'll have their respect, you won't have the element of secrecy or surprise for very long. Once you actually make the first move to sell the first property, they'll know, and the vultures will circle.

“And in a more personal sense,” she added, “Henry and Agatha are going to know with the next edition of the paper that their circumstances are drastically changed. You won't have a chance to tell them yourself or in the way that you'd prefer. Today's fire will seem a minor thing in comparison to how they're going to react.”

He grinned. “We'll have to barricade the doors.”

“And Primrose will have to boil the oil,” she added, her heart suddenly and insanely light. How easily he made her troubles laughable. It was a gift, truly. One she appreciated very much.

“What would you prefer to tell the reporters, Lindsay?” he asked, his grin still broad, his eyes bright.

That Jackson Stennett is in charge and none of it is my problem anymore. God is good and merciful.
“If you'd delay saying anything to Henry and Agatha,” she suggested, opting to be rational, “I'd prefer to go the first way. You can get more for the assets with that strategy.”

His smile faded as he considered that, and then he cocked a brow to ask, “What about the living with a lie?”

“All of this is a lie, Jack,” she said, gesturing to the room and accoutrements around them. “What's one more?”

“A lot,” he instantly countered. “Tell the reporters the truth, Lindsay.”

Her stomach clenched. “But Henry and Agatha—”

“Will sure as hell regret they didn't show up to dinner when they were invited, won't they?”

“Oh, God,” she quietly moaned, imagining the scene Henry and Agatha would create. “You don't know what you're unleashing.”

“I don't really care.”

She did care, and the looming confrontation was something she didn't want to witness. MacPhaull Rules weren't that strong; they'd be blown to itty bitty little pieces. “I have an idea,” Lindsay offered. “You stay here and deal with my brother and sister. I'll go to Texas and herb your cattle, or whatever it is that you do with them.”

He laughed. “It's
herd
, Lindsay.
Herd.”

There was a quiet knocking from the door. Jackson looked that way and Lindsay turned in the chair to do the same. Mrs. Beechum stood circumspectly on the other side of the threshold, her empty dress sleeve tucked into the waistband of her skirt. In her hand she held a large rectangular box. Lindsay instantly recognized the signature color of both the box itself and the ornately tied bow. Goldsmith was the finest and the most expensive jeweler in the city.

“Pardon the intrusion, Miss Lindsay,” she said, “but this package has just arrived for Miss Agatha and I presume it to be of sufficient value to deliver straight to you for safekeeping.”

Lindsay rose from the chair and went to her housekeeper. The box was weighty and Lindsay clenched her teeth. Damn Agatha.

“Also,” Abigail Beechum said, “the reporter from the
Herald
is here. I've put him in the parlor. Primrose is preparing the tea.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Beechum,” Lindsay replied as she yanked an end of satin ribbon and gathered the loosened binding into her fist. “Please tell him that I'll be there in a few moments.”

The housekeeper nodded and left as Lindsay went to the desk, tossed aside the ribbon, set the package in front of Jackson, and opened the lid. A black velvet box lay inside, nestled in golden tissue. With a deep sigh of certainty, Lindsay lifted the case and popped open the hinged top. An ornate diamond-and-ruby necklace glinted brightly from a nest of midnight-blue satin.

“Is it pretty?”

She looked over the top of the case to meet Jackson Stennett's gaze. “No one can fault Agatha's taste,” she answered, turning the case so that he could see the purchase for himself. As his brow shot up, Lindsay smiled thinly and added, “Unfortunately, she just can't seem to grasp the notion that she doesn't have the money to go with it.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

Lindsay closed the case and placed it back in the delivery box as she replied, “I'll return it, of course. And with it will be a letter apologizing for the fact that it's being returned, as well as informing Mr. Goldsmith and his staff that all of my sister's future purchases will have to have my prior approval.”

“I'm guessing,” Jack drawled, “that Agatha isn't going to be too happy about that.”

“No, she's not,” Lindsay admitted, thinking that Jackson Stennett had a true gift for understatement. She gave him a reassuring smile as she squared her shoulders and added, “I'll see to writing the letter this evening. It's too late in the day to send anything to Goldsmith's, but I'll see that it's done in the morning. But first things first. I need to meet with the reporter sitting patiently in the parlor.”

“I'll give you five minutes, Lindsay, and then I'll join you.”

“You don't trust me,” she accused, instantly hurt and angry.

“It's not that at all,” he said softly. “This isn't exactly a pleasant task and you shouldn't have to go it alone.”

Despite herself, Lindsay was shocked. This was not the natural order of things. Richard would take tasks from her because he insisted that he could do them better. Her mother had taken them because Lindsay was incapable of
doing them to her satisfaction. Mrs. Beechum would take them because they were within the realm of her housekeeping duties. Never had anyone offered such a kindness. It made her throat tighten uncomfortably. “If you think you must,” she replied. “But please know that I'm perfectly capable of handling the situation without assistance. From you or anyone else.”

He nodded and countered, “I don't doubt your abilities at all. But just because you can carry the load by yourself doesn't mean that you should have to. I'll be in in a few minutes.”

She left the study knowing that, despite her best intentions and Richard's unspoken expectations, the scales on Jackson Stennett were beginning to tip. While she resented his having inherited all that she'd worked for, she also knew that she wasn't feeling her usual sense of being overwhelmed. It was hard to place a dollars and cents value on the comfort to be had in sharing a burden, but if she emerged from the company reorganization reasonably close to being financially sound … What was money compared to knowing that for a time you weren't alone in facing difficulties? In that regard, Jack was well on his way to proving himself priceless.