A Hasty Betrothal (19 page)

Miles nodded, mouth grim. His hands dropped to his sides. “I am fully in awe of you, Elizabeth. My proposal had more to do with what I owe John than any concern on my part for your ability to handle your situation.”

Every fiber of her being urged her to call off her betrothal to this antagonizing man. That would be an unwise reaction, though. She had wanted to quell the ton's gossip, but instead they now chattered about her “love match.” To call off the marriage would only set tongues wagging more.

She was well and truly stuck with him.

“Believe me, your meaning is taken,” she said in a cold voice. “I do not wish to bother you any longer with duty. Please, return to the work that you never cease doing, and I shall retire to my home to be cosseted whilst I read a dreadful, horribly meaningless piece of literature, the likes of which is too immature for your well-seasoned ears.”

“Bitt.” The low timbre of his voice scraped her emotions further. He sounded disapproving. “You are overreacting.”

“Nonsense. I knew from the beginning that you were making a sacrifice to marry me. What I did not fully realize was that you felt an obligation to my brother to do so. To say that I am a duty you must fulfill... If not for Wrottesley and his obnoxious nature, I wouldn't be in this quandary of marrying a man who finds me a mere item on his list of accomplishments. Well, never fear, Miles. I shall not disturb you anymore. You may have your mundane, unimaginative life in which you prance around scoffing at other people's dreams—” At that her voice caught. Horrified, she stopped ranting because she had a betraying stinging in her eyes and her throat had stopped producing sounds. “It is altogether insulting,” she choked out.

She spun around, intending to flee, but Powell appeared in the doorway, unwittingly blocking her exit. His eyes flickered to her then landed on Miles.

“Sir, I would not interrupt but there has been an emergency.” He held out a paper. Miles snatched it.

Donning a pair of spectacles, he unfolded the paper. Beneath the tan of his skin, he paled. Without a word, he gave it back to Powell and turned to Elizabeth.

The pained expression on his face drained the anger from her. She reached out, clasped his hands. “What is it? Your brother?”

“Littleshire Mill.” His fingers spasmed over hers. “Burned down last night. Everything is destroyed.”

Chapter Twenty

M
iles found he could not release Bitt's hand.

He'd been working so hard and now...gone. Everything gone. No one had been hurt, though, and for that he thanked God. His people were the most important part of his factories.

A haze settled over his mind. He had put a large chunk of his cash toward that mill.

“What will happen to the families?” Her whisper filtered through his consciousness.

“I must see my solicitor at once. I'll visit the bank in the morning. Powell,” he barked. His valet stepped forward. “Get word to Mr. Shapely that I will arrive in three days. I'll need both books available. Instruct him to contact all the employees... I shall write instructions.”

“Both books?” Bitt looked up at him, her eyes wide. She still held his hand tightly within hers. He found the strength of her clasp warm, comforting.

“I verified that he keeps one with him and sporadically updates the one you saw. Which explains why we saw differing amounts.”

“Have you compared them?”

The question spiked the pounding pressure in his head. With his other hand, he massaged his temples. “Not yet, but I will. Once we see him, we will get everything in order. In the meantime, I must tender instructions to our employees regarding wages.”

Miles spent the next hour arranging for instructions to be sent to both Mr. Shapely and Grealey. During the entire process, Elizabeth sat in his study, calm and reassuring, offering a quiet solace that he found immensely relieving. He did not have the inclination to order her home nor the time to apologize for hurting her feelings earlier.

He would make his insensitivity up to her. Once this situation was resolved. Somehow he would show her that even though he could never be the husband she wanted, he would care for her as best as he was able. He would explain what he owed John. She deserved to know, though the idea of confessing his failings to Anastasia stoked a panic he found hard to ignore.

But Elizabeth could be trusted. She was, after all, an old childhood friend. Forgetting that fact in the wake of kissing her had been a mistake. He blocked from his mind the memory of last night. What good could it do to remember the sweetness of her embrace?

He shoved papers to the side of his desk until he found what he was looking for. “In the morning, I must go to the bank. I will need an idea of what is available to rebuild the mill.”

“You're going to keep the factory still?”

“Of course.” He paused in his rummaging. “Did you expect otherwise?”

“I am merely surprised. The other mill produces income, does it not?”

“It does, but I have several investments that have tied up my funds as well as a bulk of monies put into the Littleshire Mill. The income from my other factory is not enough. The people of Littleshire are going to be desperate for work. This is a tragedy, Elizabeth.” He pressed his palms flat against the desk. “I shall contact the insurance company to begin the work of restoring the mill.”

Her pretty lips relaxed. “I understand. What can I do?”

“There is nothing at this point.”

“I shall go with you to the bank.”

He told her no, but the next morning found her waiting on his doorstep. Her appearance was a welcome surprise. He'd spent the night sleepless. Worried.

They decided she would wait in the carriage while he completed his business. Her proximity reminded him again of the responsibilities of having a wife. She was inserting herself into his life, and it felt too comforting. What happened when she tired of him? When he proved himself unworthy just as he had with Anastasia?

He shut out the thoughts. She was
not
Anastasia, and this circumstance was not a repeat of his former marriage. Anastasia had been prone to fits of great sadness. He had tried so very hard to please her... Grimacing, he helped Elizabeth into his carriage.

He must trust God. At this juncture, it was his only peaceful option.

During the ride to the bank, the scent of her perfume filled the carriage. The rustle of her dress accompanied the nervous silence. He could not bring himself to speak, and she did not do so either, but he felt her voice within his heart.

Before he went into the bank, as the carriage jostled to the curb and stopped, he held out his hand. “Will you pray with me?”

Her brows arched up, but she nodded and placed her small hand within his.

“Lord, I ask for your bountiful mercy today. Your blessing and your wisdom. I am in need of the peace only you can give. Amen.”

“Amen,” she said softly. “Should I send a message to have a bag packed for our travel to Littleshire?”

“There is no need for you to go,” he said. “Your presence is appreciated, but there is nothing you can do there.”

“Nonsense. Grandmother will be happy to see me. Not only that, I can organize the women and children into groups. They shall help clean up the debris and scrub any machines that are still usable. Did the fire spread to the town?”

“No, the note said it remained contained and burned itself out.” Miles frowned. “A very odd thing in and of itself.”

“How do you suppose it started?”

“We shall conjecture later.” He gave her a farewell wave and exited the carriage. The door let in a fair amount of light, revealing the tight anxiety on Bitt's face. “Try not to worry, dear. I shall have this taken care of, and all will be well.”

He gave instructions for his driver to wait and then turned to face his bank. Drummond's rose above him in solid splendor, as if reassuring him that despite the loss of his mill, his money still remained safe. He strode into the large entry, where an intricate clock ticked away the time and quills greeted guests.

“Mr. Hawthorne, what brings you in today?”

Miles addressed the clerk, told him what he wanted and within a matter of minutes, his world crashed into pieces around him.

In a daze, his pockets empty, he walked to the carriage. He told the coachman to take them to the shipyard. He barely registered climbing into the carriage.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth's voice pierced the fog coating his mind. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Gone,” he said hoarsely, his future suddenly empty of everything he'd worked so hard for. “Everything is gone.”

* * *

“Gone?” Elizabeth repeated.

“Yes. Stolen. Every last pound.” Miles sat still as a rock in his seat. The carriage jostled through the streets while Elizabeth tried to absorb his words.

“But how? Who?” she finally asked.

He shook his head, his eyes eerily blank. “William Shapely, my steward. He came in yesterday morning with a supposed letter from me to withdraw funds.”

“But why would they not verify with you? Surely he does not have the authority to access your money?”

“He's my steward. He has more authority than you realize. He can't access my personal funds, but everything for the business...he had a letter signed by Grealey and me regarding the fire and the need for all available funds.”

A terrible dread settled over them as they clattered through the London streets. The stench of the Thames grew, salted with the odor of manure-lined streets and rotten fish. Indignation swelled within Elizabeth as they drew closer to the shipyard.

“Why would he do such a thing? He has not put you in the poorhouse, has he?”

“I have my property and personal funds, but the monies in those accounts...they comprised the bulk of my liquidity.” Miles buried his head in his hands, alarming Elizabeth so deeply that she reached out to touch his hair. The strands felt smooth and foreign to her fingers, on which she'd neglected to wear gloves. After all, she had not anticipated the turn of this afternoon nor that she might need them for an outing.

“All shall be well,” she said firmly. “We will retrieve your stolen funds.”

“Only if we can catch his ship. I believe he may have already sailed” came the muffled answer.

Aghast, Elizabeth could find no words of comfort. “Grealey must have known something was amiss. Turncoat. Traitor. Maleficent being.”

Miles clasped her wrists with long fingers. “While you are busy calling names, could you kindly release my hair?”

“Oh, dear.” She immediately let go of the strands, which she'd been fisting in her irritation. “I do apologize, but he has me so upset. How could he do this to you? After all the wonderful kindnesses you show your employees? And who is this Shapely fellow? I shall make sure he is caught and that justice is brought to bear upon his deceitful head. Why, this is simply villainous. An act worthy of any Shakespearean antagonist.”

Indeed, a fiery heat of anger trailed through her body.

Miles turned his grip so that he held her hand within his. His head lifted and a trace of a smile tipped his lips. “Such vilification from my sweet Bitt.”

His words swirled the heat within to something different, something infinitely more dangerous.

She withdrew her hand. “You are a close family friend and my betrothed. Of course, I am positively horrified for your sake. This shall be rectified. Grandmother has contacts in high places. Her duchess friends, you know. They shall help.”

Miles sighed. “I'll fix this myself, Elizabeth.”

“There is no need to be prideful. If you can marry me to help my unfortunate situation, by all means, allow me to return the kindness. My family is more than capable of coming to your aid.”

“Why don't we just pray? I think for now that is the best we can do.” Taking her hand without waiting for a response, he bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your goodness and ask for wisdom in this situation. Please help us deal with the matter in a way honoring You...”

He continued the prayer as she held his hand tightly. When he ended, she said amen and their eyes met. Dearest Miles, who must be so worried right now, yet he put his trust in God.

Swallowing tightly, she released his hand as the carriage shuddered to a stop.

Miles jumped out of the carriage.

“I am coming,” she said.

“This is no place for a lady.” He looked up at her from a street caked with dirt and worse unmentionables.

“My place is beside you.” She held out her hand. “Help me out or I shall jump and undoubtedly twist my ankle.”

A torn expression twisted his features, and she felt the slightest ping of guilt for forcing his hand. But she did not relent nor give in to the feeling. Sighing, he took her fingers and helped her from the carriage. She withdrew a linen from her pocket and held it to her nose.

“Where are we going?” She pressed the cloth more closely to her face.

“To find out if he has booked passage on any of these vessels.”

“And if he used a different name?”

Miles's face shuttered. “Then the lives of my employees will be radically changed, for I cannot afford to pay them for long when there are no funds.”

Elizabeth followed him, her eyes and nose stinging from the stench. The shipyard teemed with movement, curses and belligerent, unkempt men who said nothing of her birthmark nor even looked at her. They went about their business, and she could scarcely tell what that business was for their erratic movements.

It was all she could do to keep up with Miles, who set a brisk pace. He stopped when he found a man dressed in colorful regalia. A captain, perhaps?

“Aye, I know of who you speak.” The man's attention wandered to Elizabeth. He perused her thoroughly. Rude creature. “The man left yesterday on a ship bound for the Americas. The
Lady of the Seas
, I believe. Is he a wanted man?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Miles massaged the back of his neck. “Do you have any other ships leaving for the Americas?”

“Not until next week.” A shout pulled the man's attention and he dismissed himself, swaggering off.

“Next week?” Elizabeth frowned in dismay. “How are you going to retrieve your money?”

“I can solve nothing here. We will go to Littleshire.” A deep thread of tension lined Miles's voice. He surged ahead, forcing Elizabeth to extend her legs in a more determined stride.

She wanted to ask more questions, but now was obviously not the time. Poor Miles. All of the anger she had felt earlier toward him temporarily melted beneath sympathy for his plight. Whatever would he do? Surely he had funds elsewhere, but for the ones slated for his factories to be stolen...right beneath his nose. He would need to go down to Bow Street, she imagined, and file paperwork regarding the thief.

“Are you going to hire an investigator?” she asked.

“Yes, there is much to be done.”

The withdrawn quality of his voice drew her thoughts back to their argument last night. How distant he had shown himself. His scorn for her desire to read to him. And to ask her for her hand merely because John demanded it...the thought shook her to the very core.

She could not allow herself to forget that while she was discovering feelings for Miles that were far from convenient, he only saw her as an old family friend. He felt nothing more and had made it quite clear that her only relationship to him could be one of convenience. A joining to benefit them both.

As they rode in the carriage, as he conducted his business and she returned home to instruct Jenna to pack her bags, she kept the knowledge uppermost in her mind that no matter what she felt for Miles, he would never feel the same.

Yesterday evening had proved him to be what she'd always thought him: a businessman who dismissed the softer feelings with a casual wave of his oh-so-elegant hand.

What a pickle she'd gotten herself into.

Explaining to her parents why she was leaving for Windermar proved a dreadful experience. Once again, her mother subjected her to disapproving frowns while her father stood silently in their ornate, overdressed sitting room. They had not been happy with her marrying Miles in the first place.