Three
Rachel accepted the help of the conductor as she stepped from the private coach onto the landing of the main station in her home city of Boston, Massachusetts. Brushing the creases from the rich emerald corduroy of her traveling habit, Rachel couldn’t keep herself from examining the comings and goings of those still disembarking. The gentleman wasn’t among them.
The first day he separated himself from her Rachel respected his desire for distance. The second day, however, brought the decision to pursue a repair of what could prove a strategic friendship. Unfortunately, when she inquired of him to the conductor, she discovered the gentleman had disembarked the previous evening.
Now, Rachel brushed away the rising confusion. A shadow darkened her eyes, but she turned it aside, pointedly ignoring an impression of isolation. A nearby porter accepted her luggage claim tickets and beckoned to a cluster of his workmates before disappearing into the disembarking throngs in search of her belongings.
Stepping from the train to the waiting carriage from the Samson estate did nothing to lessen the mounting unease. The gentleman’s presence would have been a much-needed support– Rachel tightened her hold on her reticule moments before she stepped up into the carriage. How will you last as heir to the Samson estate if you are unable to face your own father without the support of a man?
But how could she last as heir without support?
The carriage lurched forward, pressing her into the velvet seats the same time it cast her thoughts toward the gentleman and his mysterious reaction to her identity. Certainly Lynette would know the gentleman. Yet why she should go to the trouble of seeking him out when he had excused himself from her with such… finality? Due to the fact there was no inappropriate action on his part directly beforehand, she reminded, opening and closing her fan with a teasing motion of her wrist. Time and again he demonstrated respect, intelligence, deference, maturity…. She refused to allow this distance when he could only be classified as ally and comrade. For who other had demonstrated understanding without arousing even the mildest suspicion?
Tapping the fan against her palm, determination narrowed Rachel’s gaze. I must understand his reasoning! The Samson family had few enemies—her father personally tended that truth believing the best way to cultivate wealth was to cultivate partnerships rather than competition. Rachel gave a brusque nod. She would locate the gentleman and do whatever it took to ease his conscience.
The carriage creaked to a halt and broke her reverie. She smoothed all expression from her features and tucked away all thoughts and emotions. Only then did she accept the footman’s help from the carriage.
Memories abounded upon the grounds of the massive three-level mansion of her familial roots. Located on a large plot of land near Boston Commons, the mansion stood as her father’s resolution to be the best. Everything from the carefully laid oak floors, the tightly mortared stone of the chimney, and the finely woven imported tapestries had been specifically consigned for the Samson estate.
Rachel stepped forward, ascending the stone steps leading to the front porch. As she crested the stairs, the large white door with the oppressive brass lion-head knocker opened to reveal the tall form of Oliver, the family butler.
“Good morning, Miss Rachel,” he greeted, his thinning gray hair and bright blue eyes a welcome familiarity. “I hope your journey was safe and pleasant.”
“Thank you, Oliver.” While Oliver didn’t seem as tall, Rachel noted that everything from his trim suit to his highly polished shoes remained the same. A smile teased her lips as she handed him her gloves and hat.
“It’s nice to have you home again, Miss.”
Offering him a smile and a brief incline of her head, Rachel passed him to the front hall. Memories by the dozens pressed at her, demanding her attention the same moment she attempted to usher them away. When Rachel paused at the foot of the stairs leading to the second story, she could almost see the past visions of herself and her childhood friend sliding down the railing.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
“Yes, Oliver?” she asked absently, unable to break her gaze from the happy scenes of a distant past.
“The master has requested your presence in the study as soon as you’ve freshened yourself from your trip.”
Rachel blinked, drawn back from the visions of her childhood to the present requirements of duty and expectation. She looked to the butler as she drew her control more completely around her. “Thank you, Oliver.”
He bowed and turned down the hallway leading to the kitchen at the back of the house.
That title of “master” acted as a presentiment to the expectations she herself would be held to: a deference to his role as head-of-household. Rachel’s brow furrowed and she turned on her heel, crossing the hall to the doorway of her father’s study. After a light knock and a brusque “Enter,” Rachel opened the door to step inside.
Situated directly off the main hallway for easy access, it was a true businessman’s office. Nearly the entire wall to her right held bookcases filled to capacity with law books, economic nonfiction, and histories of past successful tycoons. Included, also, were biographies from every imaginable walk of life. On the wall to her left hung letters from prominent businessmen and board members, framed and carefully positioned beside photographs of these same people with her father.
Hand momentarily gripping the brass handle of the door, Rachel forced herself to release it and walk with a steady gait to the center of the room. Dark leather chairs sat opposite her father’s desk and a dark burgundy oriental rug adorned the black walnut hardwood floor. Drawn burgundy velvet curtains heightened an effect of a dragon’s cave, reminding her of times as a child when she lived in dread of the room.
Her father, Henry Samson, leaned against the broad desk, palms downward, with a focused scowl upon the scattered papers of his desk. He could easily be considered an attractive and athletic 54-year-old businessman, though he was constantly surrounded by an aura of brusque intensity. With pepper-black hair and hazel-green eyes, the persona she saw so clearly now had certainly helped build his empire. She, however, also remembered a different side to his character. One that had chased monsters from under the bed and behind the curtains. One that had spoken to her with gentleness and kindness–
Ushering the memories away, Rachel calmly greeted, “Hello, Father.”
He looked up, and his eyes widened. “Good God! Rachel? You’ve grown!” He stepped forward and embraced her, the action catching her completely by surprise. When compared to past actions, how could she possibly have expected an outwardly warm welcome? He had barred her return for her mother’s funeral!
Yet the intermingling scents of gourmet coffee and tobacco overwhelmed her with the surge of pleasant memories. Swept up in the flood of pleasant yesterdays, her arms surrounded him in a return of his embrace. Eight years had been such a long time, and the familiar scent and warmth took her back to the happy times before–
He wanted you to become someone else.
The memories fell away and Rachel dropped her arms to her sides. Her father pulled back, a shadow falling across his countenance as he cleared his throat and moved away from her. He motioned to one of the leather chairs opposite his large desk. Rachel accepted. The intensity of his regard reminded her of the headmistress at school.
He leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Excellent.” He retrieved his pocket-watch from his vest and checked the time, the action causing Rachel a whisper of intrigue.
“Is something amiss?”
“Why do you ask?” He returned the pocket-watch with an absent motion.
“You gauge the time. Will you need to away for a meeting?” How poignant the memory of how her father prioritized business before all else.
“No, no. The meeting was scheduled for yesterday, though the other party did not arrive, and I haven’t yet received word as to the reason for their absence.”
Curiosity shuffled away the haze of irritation. “New client?”
One side of her father’s mouth lifted in a somewhat sardonic smile. “Our relationship is a bit more complicated, unfortunately.”
“Complicated, you say?” His continued ambiguity teased curiosity to intrigue.
He chose a cigar from the mahogany humidor on the front left corner of his desk, the deliberate motions of the action brimming with hesitation. “I had not a chance to inform you of all plans quite yet.”
“What plans would those be, pray?”
“I intended to have the two of you meet over lunch. Then he and I were to discuss the situation during supper.”
The cold hush of suspicion lifted the hairs of her neck. “Why not now?” she posed, her tone firm yet respectful. “If I am at all involved, I should know beforehand.”
“Of course,” her father allowed with a slight incline of head. “Hence the shared meal.”
Rachel felt a stronger surge of irritation. She never tolerated obscurity or ambiguous answers from classmates or the student government. Direct responses resulted in direct action. Besides, politicians were profuse enough, serving mostly to stagnate government and delay any true progress. Her stand had always been that the school did not need to take it upon itself the training of more.
Gathering back her calm after a brief mental warning, Rachel attempted a different approach. “This is appreciated, to be sure, but would it not be best if I were fully informed as to what type of complicated relationship you and the gentleman share that affects my person?”
To Rachel’s surprise, her father paused before finally answering, “I’m not free to discuss it at the moment.”
Her eyebrow twitched as she continued to regard him. Her father did the same, and just as calmly. “Father, the point of my training was to prepare in me a mind perfectly capable of not only managing complicated relationships, but to know how best to utilize them. What would be the point of eight years of study if I am not given cause to use said training?”
He didn’t respond.
“If you truly wish me to be a part of this business,” Rachel continued, easily holding his hazel-green examination, “then you would do well to tell me of this and other complicated relationships so that I can be better prepared to manage them.”
Her father pulled several puffs from his cigar before stating, “He’s your betrothed.”
The delicate bamboo spokes of her fan broke within her grasp. “What?”
Henry Samson’s calm and complete scrutiny of her countenance didn’t waver. “The son of a friend, we’ve had you two promised since you were born. You’re to be wed the end of this month.”
For only the second time in her life, Rachel’s heart and soul collapsed with the weight of his betrayal. “Wed?”
“Arranged marriages are common,” her father informed, “and as I’m not about to let any jackanapes come and meddle his way into our business affairs, it was deemed necessary here.”
Betrayal dwindled, indignation sparking her eyes to life. “‘Business affairs’?” Rachel repeated coldly. “Is that what this arrangement is to you? A business transaction?”
A shadow fell across his features, and the muscles at his jaw danced. “You’re my only child, Rachel, and I have every intention of managing your affairs to their best capacity.”
“My affairs regarding men are none of your concern,” she informed, “neither is the man I might choose for the role of groom. I shall marry whom and when I choose. Not before, not after, and certainly not when you deem me ready, much as a trainer with his bitch.”
“Rachel Byron Samson, I will not—”
“Just as I will not accept a man of your choosing for my husband,” Rachel insisted. “Whether he is the wealthiest, the most highly qualified, or the most intelligent matters little. This particular choice has no relevance to that of our business practices.”
His lips drew taut. “You will accept this match, Rachel, or you will no longer be included in the matters of this family’s business practices.”
Rachel bolted to her feet. “You have no right!”
“I have every right. If you do not marry the man chosen for you, I shall write you out of my estate. Love and familiarity are luxuries the rich cannot afford. The thought of business comes first. Always.” He motioned sharply toward her. “You are this family’s only hope for the future and I will not see that go to waste.”
Rachel tilted her chin upward, eyes narrowing. “So I am capable of running the business but cannot choose my own husband? I am amazed at the weight of trust you place upon me, dear Father. How shall I meet the expectations?”
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
“Tone?” Rachel asked, fighting back the shrill overtones. “You bend and manipulate my life as if I were an object or possession and worry on my tone? You have no right to control me as if I were still a child, and I refuse to yield each and every time my opinions collide with yours. I am no longer a child of fourteen, Father! I am a grown woman who has proven her worth in the realm of business. A woman who continuously demonstrated her prowess in major investments, graduating with high honors. You invested in my training, so you had best expect that to include an independent will and mind.”
Rachel turned on her heel and strode out the door, only just preventing the slam behind her, and escaped upstairs. Her step faltered at the entrance of her room, and she could only stare in horror.
French porcelain-faced dolls leered at her with smiles as forced and shallow as those seen in New York and Paris. The pink ruffles and lace of her canopy bed ridiculed her assumed role of ‘heir’, reminding her of that air of femininity which doomed her to be viewed as another empty-headed heiress. Innocent watercolors of a three-person family mocked her. Small chairs and well-dusted tea sets seared images of laughter and good times into a numbed heart. A heart of business.
“How–” Rachel nearly retched as she clutched the doorframe. “How can he believe this is who returned?” For the child she saw in the room would never be welcome in the world of business she had decided to conquer.
~~~
Brown eyes glared out the carriage window as the gentleman nervously tapped an empty pipe against his leg. When Miss Rachel Samson discovered her father’s plans…. I can’t let this happen. Not like this.
He sat forward, running a hand through his raven-black hair before irritably chewing the end of his pipe. When we meet, I’ll simply tell her…. He grimaced. Tell her what exactly, old man? The scowl darkened his brown eyes to black. An objection had to be voiced, he knew. But he also knew that anything said to her father would be waved aside as if spoken by a child. As Rachel said, no one questioned Henry Samson.
The gentleman scoffed, taking the pipe from his mouth to slip it back into the inner pocket of his suit-coat. I’ve seen her more in the past few days than her own father in these last eight years! Is it not, then, my… my duty to protect her? As a gentleman? As a… a comrade? He gave a brusque nod as the carriage pulled to a halt outside the Samson estate. Stepping down, he took a moment to straighten his charcoal jacket, mumbling, “Courage, old man. Courage,” before making his way to the front entry. There the family butler accepted his hat and gloves. “Good morning, Oliver. How has life treated you?”
“Very well. Thank you, sir. Yourself?”
The gentleman smiled. “Doing well. Doing well.” He motioned down the hall. “Available?”
“Yes, sir. Just.” Oliver led the gentleman forward. “How was your trip?”
The gentleman cleared his throat as Oliver opened the study door. “Very interesting, and let’s leave it at that.”
“Yes, sir.” Oliver bowed and closed the door behind him.
Henry Samson greeted the gentleman with a scowl and an irritably voiced, “Robert, what do you think you’re doing?”
Robert swallowed his reluctance and summoned his resolve. He refused the offered chair. “Mr. Samson, we need to have a talk.”
One eyebrow twitched as Mr. Samson prompted, “Regarding?” The action reminded Robert greatly of the man’s daughter.
“Your daughter.” Dear Lord, give me the words, he prayed, barely restraining a grimace at his predicament.
An eyebrow rose as Mr. Samson adjusted his position against his sturdy wooden desk. “And?” he pressed, crossing his arms.
Careful, old man. “I ask for your permission to court her.”
Mr. Samson sharply straightened. “You what?”
“Sir, hear me out,” he pleaded, arms raised.
“Hear you out, Robert? What in blazes are you talking about, ‘permission to court’?” Mr. Samson scoffed. “You know as well as I do a betrothal is in place. What’s the point of–”
“The ‘point’ is that she deserves this choice,” Robert said. “If you force this path upon her, you will only press her to stand against everything the betrothal signifies of today’s society: control, submission, dependence.… You’ve had her trained and taught to be dependent upon one person: Herself. That has ingrained in her an initial suspicion of the motives of everyone around her. If you persist in this betrothal, you will only jeopardize the relationship between husband and wife as well as father and daughter.”
Mr. Samson narrowed his gaze as he watched Robert’s expression. “Robert Trent, what have you done?”
“Nothing, save kindle a friendship with a highly intelligent woman.”
“And how did you accomplish this when she’s been abroad?” he prompted.
His ears felt as if they burst into flame. Robert cleared his throat. “We rode together the first two days of her journey home.” No need to confess life at the party.
“Robert–” Mr. Samson clenched his jaw. “You were told not to interfere.”
“‘Not to interfere’?” Robert repeated, incredulous. “I offer her friendship and support and it is interference? She confessed a feeling of camaraderie–the first she’s likely had in years–and it is interference?” Robert scoffed. “Good night, man! Your daughter deserves truthfulness. If this negatively impacts your plans, so be it!” Robert drove the accusation at the older man with each sharp movement of his finger. “Mark my words, sir. Should you tell her of this betrothal, she will despise and mistrust everyone involved, yourself most of all. What good will come of that?”
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” Mr. Samson warned in a dangerously calm voice. “Until that time, you will abide by the plans in place while keeping any opinions you might have to yourself.”
“Mr. Sa–”
“Robert, I suggest you leave and gather your senses. You are dangerously close to jeopardizing your future.” Then he moved around his desk to sit within the large leather chair and see to the business papers and reports scattered about his desk.
Robert clenched his jaw before storming from the room, slamming the door behind him. “Good night, what a stubborn fool!” With his daughter likely the only casualty. It was unthinkable the choices the man had made in order to allegedly protect his family legacy. “And warning me on my opinions? The man’s a pompous a–”
“Sir!”
Robert shifted his position at the call by a familiar voice. As suspected, Rachel descended from the second story, the appearance of her inviting a lump of guilt to settle in the soles of his shoes. Her eyes sparkled as bright as he remembered, and a slight smile caressed her lips. A seldom-seen expression, if he remembered correctly. Robert swallowed hard. No escape, old man. The time has come for confessions.
~~~
Rachel had stood within the doorway of her room for several silent minutes, unable to think or feel anything until she heard the slamming of a door. The unexpected jolt caused a twitch as her attention shifted from the haunting memories to the recognized voice that sharply stated “Good night, what a stubborn fool!” At that, her head snapped up and she rushed from the doorway to see, as expected, the gentleman from the train. Standing stiff and stern in the hall, his expression glowed red with anger. “And warning me on my opinions?” he groused. “The man’s a pompous a–”
“Sir!” she called, hurrying forward and barely taking the time to gather up her skirts for the possibility of missing him yet again. The gentleman slowly turned, expression showing an emotion that Rachel could only label as… guilt? A little breathless as she reached the bottom step, Rachel moved toward him while voicing, “A pleasant surprise, I must say. How in the world did you know to find me here?” She found herself hoping the welcome in her tone would let him know that no offense was taken from his sudden departure from her company at their previous meeting.
Any uncertainty was ushered away with a somewhat forced smile as he reached out to accept her offered hand, bending over it in a formal bow and meeting her green gaze. Hesitation shone clear in his brown eyes.
“In actuality, I.…” Yet his voice faded as he straightened, sending a glance over his shoulder toward the door of her father’s study. When he focused once again on her face, the seriousness was plain. “Is there a place where we can speak more privately?”
“Of course.” Rachel motioned further down the hall. “There are the back gardens to the left.”
“Perfect.” The gentleman offered his arm, which she accepted. “My confession is liable to be… upsetting,” he finally admitted.
Rachel examined his expression, unable to restrain the detachment that always came when an outcome was unknown. “I see.”
“In fact, I have but just come from a meeting with your father regarding that very subject.”
“You–” She halted, retrieving her hand from his arm as she faced him, the suspicion flaring. Rachel, do not judge prematurely, nor place upon him any offense he might have unknowingly committed, she warned. Gathering her control tighter, Rachel calmly asked, “Why?” while preparing herself for the answer.
Looking once more to the study door behind him, he motioned ahead toward the main hall. Rachel inclined her head. “When you identified yourself as Rachel Samson.…” he began.
“You must have more than a passing familiarity with my family and its businesses,” Rachel supposed as she watched his profile. His hesitation to continue the confession struck another thought as well. “Then your reaction aboard the train was due to the fact you knew of the betrothal.”
The gentleman halted, his jaw clenching before he shifted his focus to her face. “How much did he tell you?”
Her chin tilted. “That he has had me promised to a man I’ve never met. To the ‘son of a friend’.” Keeping firm control of her tone, she held his gaze. “You knew and yet did not tell me. Why?”
The gentleman moved his focus to the intersection between the main and back halls that led to the gardens. “I was afraid. How did I go about the duty without hurting you? I still don’t know.”
The tension around them heightened, Rachel could plainly sense it, and caused the gentleman to fist his hands at his sides. Rachel, he was not at fault, she told herself. He should be allowed further explanation. Especially since he presented, again, an extreme regard for her feelings in the matter. Motioning toward the garden, the gentleman followed after a moment’s hesitation. She descended the marble steps, moving to stand near a three-foot marble bench situated under a large oak tree. Rachel did her best to loosen her stiff form, knowing it clearly showed her agitation. Yet the hurt at her father’s manipulation would not be ignored, nor would it be completely ushered aside.
“I made a final decision only this morning,” the gentleman confessed, standing beside her.
Rachel could only remain silent and distant, unable to voice any type of assurance that she didn’t hold him to blame for his choice. How would she have confessed the same knowledge if their roles had been reversed? You should not allow the silence to fester, she admonished.
“Should it make a difference for you and your future,” he said before she could speak, “I asked his permission to court.”
Her gaze swiftly met his. “You what?”
The gentleman softly cleared his throat, uncertainty again noted in his expressive brown eyes. “Miss Samson, my decision to remain silent is a regretted one, to be sure, and I had hoped to persuade your father to… to allow you this choice.”
“A choice? For what? For a normal courtship when this… this other has been deemed suitable to sire the Samson grandchildren? For persuading me to fall in love with a stranger so that he might gain monetary stability for our future generations?” Rachel scoffed and faced forward.
“Miss Samson….” He released a deep breath. “Miss Samson, what type of gentleman would I be if I had not attempted some course of action?”
Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, Rachel admitted, “I appreciate the thought, sir, much as my attitude doesn’t show it, but….” She faced him again, knowing that her calm was almost chilled. “If I don’t follow through with this betrothal, he threatens to write me out of his inheritance. One that I’ve trained and studied these eight years to have. This result leaves me with no place to stand against him.”
Clenching his jaw, the gentleman seemed to flinch in body as well as expression as he held her gaze. “Miss Samson….”
But there were no words he could have said that would alleviate the damage done. Rachel had finally come to see that her life was not truly her own.
“Miss Samson,” he attempted again, “the protection of your future must have been his intention.”
“Whatever the goal,” she informed, tone cool as she looked away, “the choice that should have been mine has been stolen, thwarting my training for independence. Henceforth, this man will stand as a living ridicule to my hard work.”
The gentleman ran a hand through his hair, releasing another deep breath as he whispered, “It can’t be,” while turning away from her.
Shaking his head, he moved to sit upon the marble bench near the oak tree. Rachel followed, lowering herself beside him as he stared somewhat blankly at the ground, his arms resting lightly upon his legs. His reaction intrigued her, for he didn’t know so much about her or her character that the knowledge of this betrothal would cause him to be so troubled.
“Sir, why does this decision cause a reaction such as a proposal of courtship to a stranger?” When he didn’t look up nor seem to intend a response, she pressed the point. “Where is the benefit to you in taking on my father’s wrath? The Samson estate and holdings are vast, yes, but I may very well have lost the right to th–”
“I did not propose courtship to gain your wealth, Miss Samson,” he finally said, his brown eyes more guarded when he met her gaze. “As I said before, you deserve this particular choice perhaps more than any other. This one decision affects not only your future, but that of the family you’re destined to have. There should be no manipulation involved. No ulterior motive that taints such a beautiful thing as ‘family’.”
Rachel blinked at him, the totality of his answer impressing her even more of his true character. Then, when held against his responses of honor and responsibility on the train…. “My conscience refuses me your company. I’ve taken liberties and do not deserve your attention.”
A decision made, Rachel pulled her embroidered kerchief from the wrist of her sleeve and presented it to him. “Sir, whether or not my father approves, your attentions are accepted.”
The gentleman lowered his gaze to the kerchief, saying nothing.
“I won’t accept this betrothal,” she intoned firmly. “I know nothing of this other man–his passions and politics; his persona or trustworthiness. How can I ally myself with a stranger whom my father deems worthy when I haven’t been given the opportunity to have that worthiness exhibited?”
“I–” The gentleman didn’t lift his focus from the kerchief, his hand still not accepting the soft material. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Are you certain? I offered, yes, but.… Miss Samson, I don’t wish you to feel obligated to accept. It should not simply be the lesser painful option.”
“It is the lesser painful option, for what I’ve come to know of you invited… trust.” Rachel reached out to take his hand and tuck the kerchief within the warm grasp. The gentleman blinked and stared down at the dainty cloth. “Even now you display more strength of character than my father, both in your initial offering and in your hesitation to accept. Therefore, if my father has determined that I should marry, then I shall choose the man to whom I will give my affections and my position. That choice is you.”
“Miss Samson, I only offer–”
“You offer courtship, yes,” Rachel interrupted, “yet all I have to offer is engagement– No. All that is available to me is a classification of ‘betrothal’. To save my independence and my own self-respect.”
The gentleman regarded her for a long and silent collection of moments until, finally, his lips tilted upward in a lopsided and very boyish smile. “Again, Miss Samson,” he slipped the kerchief into the side pocket of his suit coat and presented a hand, “I hold you only to courtship at this point and time. Holding you to anything more when you’ve not had the appropriate time to gauge my person puts me into a classification I would rather not be. One that your father seems to be content to have to himself.”
Firming her hold on his hand, she inclined her head. “Very well. Courtship then, though I doubt another shall be adequate to the task of ‘husband’.”
“Even I may be found lacking and, with that said, I suppose I should introduce myself. No one else seems able to take up the duty.”
Her lips lifted into a very slight expression of amusement. “I could title you ‘sir’ for the remainder of our acquaintance.”
Chuckling, he gave her hand a single, firm yet gentle grip before releasing it. “While ‘sir’ is charming in its own way, the name is Robert Leonard Trent, of Virginia. But please, call me ‘Rob’ or ‘Robert’. All my friends do so.”
Rachel inclined her head. “You realize, of course, that in all proper form the title of ‘Robert’ shouldn’t be spoken until much later?”
“Yes, well, in addition to being arrogant, my father would feel obligated to tell you I’m also classified as a rogue. I almost never do that which is deemed ‘proper’. Instead, I show a definite tendency toward following my heart more than common sense. That has ushered me into trouble more times than Father would care to admit.”
Rachel stood, and she studied him as he did the same. Then she motioned toward the house, Robert following beside her. “Very well. Robert, then. Yet only should you call me Rachel. Turn-about is fair play.”
“Of course, as I lean toward doing my best to please the ladies…. Within reason, of course.”
Rachel’s lips twitched slightly, amazing her at how easily the action came. When was the last time I enjoyed someone’s company to this extent? She couldn’t recall.
The two ascended the stairs of the back porch. However, Robert halted her before entering the house, his hand gently enfolding her upper arm. “Miss Sa– Pardon me. Rachel.”
She faced him, noticing a return of the uncertainty and caution she noted before. “Yes?”
“Should your father restate his ultimatum.…” Robert released a slow breath. “Rachel, I only offered to court to save you the loss of a freedom I take very seriously. I have enough wealth to my name that I can support you with or without my father’s approval, or yours, should the end of our acquaintance result in marriage. However, it isn’t my intention to separate you from what is rightfully yours.”
The reiteration of so many honorable characteristics intrigued Rachel to an even greater extent, especially after her life experiences to that point. “Thank you for that,” she told him, “yet my training has been in independence and aggression. To know myself, what I want, and then have the tenacity and courage to pursue it. So I will have this choice, even should that separate me from the legacy that was previously set aside.” She tilted her chin upward. “I shall make my own legacy.”
Robert regarded her for a long moment, his expression still serious and deep in thought. Then the lines of his handsome face softened and the smile reappeared. He bowed with a regally stated, “Miss Samson. It is my honor to serve.”
Curtsying low, Rachel restrained a sardonic smile. “Sir.”
Robert held open the back entry door for her. “Did you have a pleasant morning, at least?”
“Better than expected, with obvious exceptions.”
Conceding the point with a slight incline of head, Robert fell into step beside her. “I truly am sorry that I didn’t finish the trip with you. As I said before, my conscience wouldn’t allow it until I had resolved what to do.”
“While it tweaks my temper that you didn’t confess all at the moment I introduced myself, I suppose I can understand the reasons for it,” she confessed. “I once showed a tendency toward speaking too soon, often embarrassing myself with a showing of temper. I’ve since come to realize that waiting is often the best policy.” Too many years had it taken to learn that lesson.
Robert chuckled. “I shall do my best to remember that as a warning. As well as the fact that your eyes sparkle when you’re preparing to lash.”
A single eyebrow arched upward while she sent him a questioning glance.
Again, Robert sounded his attractive baritone chuckle. “I apologize.”
“For what, pray?”
“For my forward behavior. I should wait until tomorrow, at least, to allow you time to recover from a less-than-wonderful journey and revelation. Especially when such resulted in two men being thrust upon you.”
Amusement rose within. “Then I suppose it would be forward of me to admit that your quips are the help to recover?”
Robert laughed outright, drawing yet another mild expression of entertainment. She halted when her father stepped from his office into the hall. The action was so swift that it caused Robert to touch her briefly on the back as he came to stand beside her.
“Rachel, it’s time to speak of details regarding arrangements before this foolishness continues,” her father informed as he approached. His hard stare swept over them both.
“ ‘Details’ of what, Father?” she asked coolly. “I have told you I will not marry this ‘son of a friend’. It matters little that you have us betrothed. You did not consult me; therefore, I do not recognize the contract.”
“Whether you recognize the contract or not, Rachel, matters little. Understandings have been made. My friend has quite the fortune, as well as the business sense to hold and increase it. His son has that same tendency, though a bit more… unorthodox.” He cast Robert a dark glare. “And you, who were told not to involve yourself, interfere at the first opportunity–”
“He did nothing, Father,” Rachel informed, “other than voice an acceptable offer of future attention. I’ve told you: I will not accept this previous arrangement. I know nothing of his character. You wouldn’t expect me to begin a business partnership on those grounds much less a marriage.”
“Don’t take offense at the pairing. Both of you have been trained with what is required and beneficial for this life you’ve been born into. You’ve also proven yourselves bright and determined to follow through with whatever challenge has been placed in front of you. So, this future has been specifically tailored to that.”
“I will not be controlled,” Rachel insisted firmly. “If that attitude is rewarded by striking me from your will, so be it. For what good was my training if you don’t trust it?”
Henry roughly motioned to Robert. “So you choose him? This rogue with the sweet words and idiotic notions of chivalry?”
From the corner of her focus, Rachel noticed Robert’s form stiffen. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “What I have discovered of Mr. Trent has invited trust, with these ‘idiotic notions’ a great motivator toward that end. I know nothing of this other and refuse to marry a man who doesn’t show resilience enough to stand against you. Mr. Trent, however, has shown courage and resolve to spare, and his attentions will remain acceptable–”
“You know nothing about him!” Henry snapped. “For all you know he could be using the situation to gain the upper-hand and forever have the ability to control you, your opinion, and your inheritance!”
Robert took a menacing step forward, any further action once more halted by Rachel’s hand upon his arm and a cool voicing of “Robert,” as she focused briefly on his taut profile. She immediately focused on her father. “If the only course is researching his ethics, family background, and stability of wealth to prove he isn’t the conspirer you believe, so be it. I shall prove to you and justify to myself the truth of his qualifications as beau, suitor, and prospective husband for the end result of providing you your heir.” Rachel tilted her chin upward. “When I do, you will inform the other that he is not the intended for my hand.”
Her father glowered down at her a moment before shifting his hard stare to Robert. “You will regret this decision, Trent.”
“I will not regret the decision to be honorable.”
Briefly clenching his jaw, Henry finally muttered, “Fine,” in a tightly controlled tone. “But you will be responsible for any and all correspondence to your original intended, as well as to the Board explaining this breach of contract: verbal or not. I hope they are as forgiving of your blatant rebellion as I am, for they don’t appreciate contracts being broken for the sake of pride.”
Then he turned to stalk toward the front entry, slamming out of the house without coat or hat.
“ ‘For the sake of pride’?” Rachel repeated. She sounded a slight scoff. “That was the pot calling the kettle ‘black’.”
At Robert’s continued silence, Rachel shifted her focus to him. He had retrieved a pipe from somewhere on his person and now mercilessly bit down upon it while glowering at the front door.
“I don’t understand why Father has taken an instant dislike to you,” Rachel admitted. “You have said you know him, and even now he mentioned that he had told you not to interfere. Had you confronted Father before I returned from Europe?”
If possible, Robert’s glower darkened as his jaw clamped down on the pipe with a click. “Father wouldn’t allow it.”
“Allow what? Your meeting with my father?”
“Or my contact with you,” he grumbled. “It did not matter that my conscience was about to drive me mad. It did not matter that the manipulation would prove more harmful than advantageous. They had come to an agreement and that was all that mattered.”
Intrigued, Rachel inquired, “ ‘They’?”
Robert withdrew the pipe from his mouth, frowning down at it as he crossed his left arm tightly under his right elbow. “All of them, with you and your betrothed powerless to do anything.”
Rachel blinked. “He doesn’t wish the match?”
“Oh, he had resigned himself to it,” Robert said through clenched teeth, “after conversations with his father proved nothing.” He scoffed. “He has supposedly been trained for independence in the controlling of a business as powerful as your combined families, and yet he can’t stand against his own father.” He clenched his jaw tighter. “You’ve shown more spine than he, risking even your legacy.”
Rachel regarded him, watching intently as his jaw muscle twitched. It seemed to heighten his dramatic good looks and the powerful line of his jaw. The determination and irritation that exuded from him nearly set his short-cut straight black hair on end, shifting something within Rachel’s person that such a man would be so moved for… her. Even going against his father’s wishes. Who knew what risk that had taken for his own legacy?
Releasing a deep breath, Robert scrubbed at his scalp as he stared down at the still empty pipe in his other hand. “Ah well. Choices have been made and now I’m at last prepared to face the consequences.” He focused on her. “There is no turning back now, Rachel.”
She held his gaze, her green eyes emerald with determination as her chin tilted upward even more. “I don’t turn back in anything.”
“Yes, well, that was before you decided to welcome me into your life.” Again, the boyish expression of handsome mischief. “Although ‘welcome’ is freely used, considering the circumstances.”
Fighting back the amusement with a surprising desire to be irritated, Rachel looked away. “Circumstances are what we make of them.”
“Here, here. I agree.”
The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end as he continued to watch her. When she met his gaze and didn’t look away, his expression showed respect and… something she didn’t recognize. At least, not in relation to her.
Then he smiled and presented a hand. “I had best go and leave you to the adventure of trying to find a new place in an old home.”
She accepted his hand, tensing a bit when his thumb made one light stroke of her knuckles.
“Unless you would care to have brunch?” he offered.
“Thank you for the invitation, but I need time to myself.” Yet what the time alone would prove or uncover, she didn’t know. Of late, time in solitude only gave rise to regrets.
“Of course,” Robert said. “There is much you still need to do in order to settle yourself. I’ve no wish to intrude onto that.”
They approached the door, Oliver arriving a moment later with Robert’s hat, coat, and gloves. To Rachel’s surprise, reluctance to see him go directly contradicted the reluctance to have him stay.
Robert accepted his things with a smile for the butler before facing her. “May I call tomorrow?”
Again the reluctance shifted, but she forced it aside. “For coffee, of course.”
His smile relaxed a bit as he hung his coat over his arm. “Then I shall see you tomorrow.” He placed his hat onto his head, tipping it toward her. “Rachel.”
Rachel couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips upward as she bid, “Robert,” and felt odd that it didn’t feel odd to say it. Then he had gone, leaving Rachel to stare at the door in muted and numbed shock of her situation. “And so it’s done,” she mused.
Turning from the front door, Rachel stepped forward to rest a hand on the balustrade at the base of the stairs, staring up toward the second story with a deep sigh at the memories, tears, and laughter. Once again remembering the child she had been and comparing her with the woman she had become. Yet strangers both. Now, to protect her independence she had welcomed another.
“One stranger over another,” she observed. Then her hand momentarily tightened its hold. “But at least the choice was mine.”