Leslie LaFoy (21 page)

Oh God. It was a good plan; equitable and sound, except for the fact that Henry and Agatha would be bankrupt within a very short period of time. The only hope they had of remaining solvent was to let her manage their assets for them. Which is exactly what they'd insist upon, she realized. Jackson could divide, but he wouldn't be able to conquer. The minute he went back to Texas, the management of the MacPhaull properties would revert to the way it had always been done. It was probably best to let him have his illusions, though. The less conflict between the two of them, the better.

“It's fair, Lindsay.”

“I know,” she agreed, her mind considering the other likely consequences of his intended actions. “I also know that Henry is going to see getting a third as considerably less than what he was hoping for.”

“He can be grateful for a third or get nothing at all.”

“And if he challenges the Will, Jack? What will you do then?”

He shrugged and sampled his wine. “He won't have grounds to contest it, Lindsay. Ever. The MacPhaull Company was Billy's to do with as he pleased and he gave
it all to me; lock, stock, and barrel. Elmer Smith, the lawyer in Texas, might not be able to punch his way out of a rotten flour sack, but he's got a mind like a steel trap. He made sure the will was sound, Lindsay. It can't be broken. Otis Vanderhagen knew that the minute he laid his eyes on it.”

“But what if Henry decides to contest it, just to be difficult?” she persisted. “Or to force you into giving him more than you intend to?”

“It'd be a real stupid thing to do for whatever reason.”

“Why?”

With a sigh of tried patience, he laid down his silverware. “First of all, Henry has no say in the MacPhaull Company operations. Added to that is the fact that Billy's last Will hasn't been formally recognized by the New York courts yet and so the ownership of the MacPhaull assets hasn't been officially transferred. Billy is still the owner of record and Richard is still the manager.”

She knew that and she nodded. “Which means that, legally, nothing has changed at all. I can still buy and sell and do whatever I deem necessary to keep the company fiscally sound.”

“Exactly. Henry can pitch all the fits he likes, but it's not going to get him anywhere.”

“But if I were to pitch a fit about helping you dismantle the company …” she ventured, watching him.

His gaze was dark and somber. Quietly, he said, “You could put a real big knot in my rope for a while.”

Yes, she could. And very easily. If she were of a mind to. The larger question was why she wasn't. “If I were going to fight you for control, you and I wouldn't be sitting here eating dinner together tonight.”

“No, we probably wouldn't,” he drawled, going back to his steak. “I'd be in a hotel somewhere and you'd be scrambling to sell whatever you could for whatever price you could get, just so that you could hand me an empty bag when the courts made you give it to me.”

“I could still do that.”
I should be doing that.

“But you won't.”

He was so confident in his victory. The ease with which he'd apparently achieved it rankled her pride. “How can
you be so sure?” she asked tauntingly, hoping to ruffle his composure.

“You're a good and decent person, Lindsay MacPhaull. You play fair and deal square. If you had it in you to be even just a little bit ruthless, you'd have cut Henry and Agatha off a long time ago. You'd have left me in the fire this morning.”

“I could decide that it's time I learned how to be ruthless.”

Again he sighed and laid down his silverware. “You could,” he agreed softly, staring down at his plate. He looked up at her. “Or, for the first time in your life, you could decide to hand over the reins, sit back, and let someone take care of you for a while.”

Her heart skittered. “That would require a great deal of trust on my part,” she observed as tendrils of fear snaked through her.

“Yep,” he replied, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. “Just as much as I have in you. Good night, Lindsay. Let me know in the morning what you decide.”

Lindsay watched him go, torn between knowing what she knew Richard would tell her to do and what she wanted to do. Yes, she could—as Jack had so descriptively said— put a knot in his rope for a while. In terms of her own financial interests, it was what she should do.

If her mother were still living, the lecture on responsibility to family would have already begun in earnest. Interwoven with that tirade would have been another one on the importance of feminine virtue and how its sacrifice should be considered only in exchange for significant business concessions.

But she wasn't her mother, and she wasn't Richard, either. She was Lindsay MacPhaull and she was tired of struggling through the turmoil on her own. She could sell off property and keep what pennies she got or she could let Jack do it and hope he could not only get more for it, but that he was also a man of his word. Would it really be all that horrible to let someone else be the rock of the MacPhaulls for a while?

For a while
was the key, she reminded herself. Jack would go back to Texas, and when he did, her life would go
back to normal. The real question, then, was whether she could temporarily surrender control and still have the strength to stand on her own again when the time came and she needed to.

Just how long was the respite Jack offered? He'd said he had to have it all done within sixty days. Lindsay mentally subtracted the time it would take for him to return to Texas and then the days necessary to actually pay off the creditors there. What remained was just over a month. She knew people who considered that span of time to be barely enough for a suitable holiday.

But, she sadly reminded herself, allowing Jack to manage the reorganization of the MacPhaull Company without hindrance wouldn't result in a complete abdication of her responsibilities. Jack would be shouldering only part of them. It could be a real holiday only if she somehow escaped the expectations of her brother and sister. That, she knew, was never going to happen. And there was absolutely no reason for Jackson Stennett to relieve her of that daunting burden. In fact, Jack's intention to make Henry and Agatha responsible for their own finances added to the weight she already bore for them.

Swallowing back tears, Lindsay placed her napkin beside her plate and rose from the table. She needed to write the letter to Mr. Goldsmith and then put it and the necklace into the study wall safe before she retired for the evening and Agatha returned home from the theater. If Agatha could get her hands on her newest bauble, there would be no prying it free. It would be yet another horrendous debt heaped on the mountain of those Lindsay already couldn't afford.

Maybe, she mused as she headed toward the study, she should consider running away to some far corner of the world where Henry and Agatha couldn't find her. It was what her father had done. And she could, on days like today, truly and honestly understand why he'd surrendered to the temptation.

J
ACKSON STOOD AT THE WINDOW
of his darkened room and absently gazed over the moonlit garden at the back of the
house. Even in the relative darkness, he could tell that the formal plantings needed tending, that the whole of it was suffering from the effects of the Panic and the demands on Lindsay's limited resources. In the grand scheme of things, gardens couldn't rightfully claim to be a priority. God knew Lindsay had more to be concerned about than the fact that new gravel needed to be put down on the pathways.

Jackson thought back over the course of the day and all that he'd learned about the snarl Billy had left him to untangle. With a wry smile, Jack consoled himself with the certain knowledge that no matter how hard his day had been, Lindsay's had been considerably more difficult. There had been the unexpected meeting with Henry the Imperial Lord, the fire, the complications of unexpected houseguests, and then the necessity of facing the reporter.

And the necklace. Jesus, he couldn't forget the necklace. The thing had to be worth thousands of dollars, and it was a sure bet the jeweler hadn't just given it to Agatha out of the goodness of his heart. His own heart had damn near rolled over when he'd laid eyes on it.

How Agatha thought Lindsay could afford to pay for it was a mystery. Just yesterday morning, he'd stood in the study and very clearly heard Lindsay tell Agatha that she'd been put on a clothing allowance because their funds were limited. Apparently, Agatha had chosen to ignore the dose of reality. He'd bet the necklace that Lindsay had been just as honest with Henry about their financial situation. And given the expectations Henry had declared that morning, her effort had gone to pretty much the same pointless end.

He'd have brought Lindsay's brother and sister to heel a long time ago. Why hadn't Richard Patterson? Because Lindsay protested and protected them, he answered himself with a slow shake of his head. Why did she defend them? From what he could tell so far, they were both rude, self-centered, and ungrateful people. God, Lindsay MacPhaull either had the patience of a saint or she actually enjoyed being abused.

A distant high-pitched noise suddenly intruded on his thoughts. Jack let the curtain fall back into place. It came again, accompanied by the sound of a crash. Was someone
breaking into the house? He'd left Lindsay downstairs alone. His heart racing, Jack strode across his room, tore open the door, and started down the hall. He was halfway to the top of the stairs when Lindsay's voice rang out clear and strong and firmly calm.

“I meant what I said, Agatha. It goes back to Mr. Goldsmith in the morning. We barely have enough money to pay for the food on our table.”

They were both in the foyer. And judging by the noise ringing up the stairwell, Agatha had just flung the silver calling card tray against a wall. Jack drew a deep breath. Should he step into the sisters' confrontation? Or should he just stand back and let Lindsay handle the situation? The former seemed likely to make matters even worse than they already were. But the latter course seemed downright cowardly. He reached the top of the stairs and froze, gazing in amazement over the scene below.

“You can't tell me what I can and can't have!” Agatha yelled, stamping her foot.

Lindsay, near the far wall, straightened, the silver calling card tray in her hand. “We can't afford such extravagances,” she deliberately replied, returning the tray to the center table and placing it back beside the vase of flowers.

Agatha suddenly snatched up the crystal vase and lifted it above her head. “Give me my necklace, Lindsay. Give it to me or I'll smash this to bits.”

“Put it down,” Lindsay commanded with deadly calm, tapping the top of the table with a finger. “If you break it,
you'll
be the one going without the food it would have bought. I swear it.”

Agatha gasped, blinked a full dozen times, then slammed the vase down on the tabletop. Her compliance was fleeting, however. In almost the same instant that she put down the vase, she grabbed the flowers, flung them to the floor, and then proceed to kick them around the foyer as she squealed in outrage.

Jackson watched in slack-jawed astonishment as Lindsay leaned her hip against the edge of the table, crossed
her arms, and said quietly, “When you're through with your tantrum …”

Agatha didn't even so much as pause to gasp for more air; not that Jackson had expected her to. Instead, she reached for the silver calling card tray.

Lindsay, her cheeks flooded with color and her eyes blazing, moved with lightning speed to swat her sister's hand.

Jack choked back his laughter as Agatha jerked her hand back and blinked at Lindsay in stunned, sudden silence.

“I'm sorry, but enough is enough, Agatha. You're behaving childishly.”

Agatha lifted her chin with a huff, said, “I'm going to tell Henry what you've done,” and then turned on her heel, yanked up the hems of her skirts, and strode toward the front door. “He'll make you give me back my necklace.”

The sound of the slamming door reverberated through the entire house. Lindsay's shoulders slumped momentarily, but she quickly recovered her resolve. “You were right,” she said quietly and without looking up at him. “She wasn't happy about the necklace being returned.”

He stood there, not knowing what to say, but wishing there was something he could do to make Lindsay smile.

She scrubbed her palms over her face briefly and then sighed before saying, “I suppose there's nothing to be done at this point but clean up the mess. Good night, Jack.”

“I'll help you,” he offered, starting down.

“Thank you, but no thank you,” she declared, looking at him for the first time. “If you don't mind,” she said quietly, her voice strained, “I'd prefer to be alone right now. I hope you can understand.”

He didn't, but he nodded anyway and retreated out of respect for her wishes. As he slowly made his way back to his room, Jack realized that he now knew the answer to his earlier pondering. Lindsay didn't enjoy being abused. Neither did she have the patience of a saint. Unfortunately, it appeared that she deeply regretted that she didn't. All things considered, though, there was hope for her in the long run.

She had a backbone of steel and her head was firmly set on her shoulders. She was a damn fine woman. A damn fine woman desperately trying to control a stampede of idiots.

T
HE MOON WAS BEGINNING
to set and Jackson stood at the window of his bedroom, watching, puzzling the dream that had ended his sleep. He'd been at his house in Texas and walked out on the front porch at dawn. Right by the front steps, he'd seen a rosebush that hadn't been there before. Its flowers were a thousand shades of pink and the fragrance that wrapped around him had been as velvet as the petals had been to his touch.

And as he'd stood there, wondering where it had come from and who had planted it, it had begun to grow. Fast. He'd thought of that as he'd stood there in amazement and watched its canes wind around the porch railing, wrap up the post, and then stretch across the opening to spill across the railing on the other side.