The Price of Pleasure (27 page)

He hesitated, then seemed to be doing calculations in his head. “We'd have to get the wool shipment off to McClure, the wool broker. We'd need a load of cash just to harvest and move it.”

Cash. She took a deep breath. “Say I can get some?”

“We'd have to contract a shearing crew.” Mr. Huckabee raised his eyebrows. “It might—it might just work. If we come up with some ready money
and
can get this year's wool shipment off, then we can meet our more pressing loans with West London. We'd be safe for a couple of months, maybe three.”

“Can you tally up how much I'd need?”

“Yes, but it's going to be dogged hard to make it all work. Even if you could get the money.”

“Huckabee, I'll take care of the money. You just find out how much I need to get.”

“Yes, milady!” he vowed before he rushed off to the office, obviously very pleased to have something meaningful to do.

Later, when Tori met Cammy in the study to explain her plan, Cammy said, “Count me in. I can work. But where would you get money from?”

“There's actually some more furnishings left inside—the Huckabees wanted to spare Grandfather the reality of his situation, so his room is virtually unchanged. There are some paintings left.” She rose from her grandfather's worn leather chair and walked to a safe, pulling out a box filled with various cases and rolls. “And some of Grandmother's jewels that he couldn't bear to sell.” When Cammy joined her, she unrolled the velvet jewelry pouch, displaying glittering stones set amid rare antique settings. “And I have one other possession.”

She thought of the ring stowed in a drawer in her room.

Cammy gasped. “You can't,” she sputtered. “Surely you wouldn't.”

“I wouldn't what? Do what absolutely has to be done? If that ring had meant food for us in one of the first days, would you have sacrificed it?”

After several seconds, Cammy nodded. “But this isn't the same.”

“It is!” Tori insisted.

“You could write Sutherland. He wouldn't want this to happen to you.”

“Then why isn't he here, making sure we are well? Because he doesn't care. The only way he'll come back here is to claim the Court. You know how much he wanted it. Why would he give it away just when it was in his grasp?”

“Maybe he did it because he loves you.”

She folded the jewelry in its pouch. “He very succinctly told me he didn't the last time I saw him, but he did tell me it was over and that there would be no second chances.”

“His family?”

“Would help us, I've no doubt. But they'd inform Grant. I don't want him back here until I can get my resources together to put up a good fight. There was a signed contract, Cammy.”

“Well, we just haven't thought hard enough about it then. There's got to be a way for you to live without this place—”

“London frightened me, but I was able to tolerate it because I knew I would be leaving soon. The idea of being stuck in a city, even one a third of the size of London…” Tori shuddered. “I have to make this work. My back's against the wall just like on the island. If you look at it that way, things become so clear. I see potential in everything. I have to.” She touched the heavy pieces in the roll. “I'll send Huckabee to London tomorrow with everything I have.”

Cammy's eyes were wet. “Oh, Tori, can you do it?”

“Yes. This is my lot.” She took it with a heavy heart, but she would accept it with resolve. “I must make it work.”

 

When their first visitor knocked on the front door, Cammy rushed to answer, but Tori beat her to it. “Let me guess,” she called in the foyer, “some news of a broken pump, or some seeds gone bad, or the eighty-year-old natives are restless—” She opened the door to a man they didn't know. “Yes?”

Cammy stared at the stranger, at the six feet of powerful man standing just there, seeming to fill the doorway. Salt-and-pepper hair, sensual gray eyes. He could rival even Ian's good looks.

He explained that he was Stephen Winfield, their neighbor to the north. “I'm terribly sorry that I missed your grandfather's funeral. I was away.”

Winfield? He must be the baron the Huckabees had spoken so fondly of. Cammy leaned in closer to hear his voice, deep and resonating….

“I've brought some stores from my estate.”

The conversation was the oddest Cammy could remember. Incredibly, Tori behaved as if this was just an ordinary man, using the same tone and words she might use with Huckabee. Cammy marveled, knowing she herself would babble incoherently if he looked down at her. No, actual words left Tori's lips: “We don't need your charity. We're fine.”

His brow creased. “I would hope your estate would help mine if I needed it.”

I'd help,
Cammy's mind cried.

As if he heard her, he turned in her direction. His eyes widened, then focused on hers.

“It's incidental whether I would help or not,” Tori rejoined. “We don't need your assistance now.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, seeming at a loss for words. Finally, in a low voice, he said, “Regardless, I will return.” He wasn't looking at Tori when he said the last, having never taken his eyes from Cammy.

S
ell the books, milady?” Mrs. Huckabee asked in a choked voice. “Many are antique first editions.”

Tori sighed. “Then sell them, but
charge extra.
Every one that doesn't have to do with business or commerce. I suppose I'm going to need those directly.”

In fact, once Huckabee returned from selling the jewels, Tori began wading through those tomes, studying business and negotiating as diligently as a young lady preparing for her first season. The Huckabees also advised that she study sheep farming because, as they related to her horror, they didn't have anyone in charge of the wool operations.

“When the man quit, we couldn't find another to hire on,” Huckabee explained. “I took up the books, but the truth is—I just don't know sheep. Crops, yes. Sheep, no.”

“So no one here knows about sheep farming?”

“The villagers do, but they don't know the business end.”

“We've got to find someone. Place an advertisement or something. Find me a sheep man!”

And during this time, when she wasn't having Huckabee point out everything—anything—that could be converted into money without affecting future production, she was following Gerald Shepherd around. As he fed and examined the ewes, she clomped about in her borrowed heavy boots and peppered him with questions. One thing that struck her in particular was that the sheep didn't act very…
sheepish.

In fact, she would swear she'd heard one
growl.

When asked about them, Gerald answered, “'Pon my word, we dunno how that came about. Even the lambs can make some of the smaller dogs skittish. Confounds the poor pups.”

Gerald scratched his shaggy beard and Tori gawked as they stared out over the nearest field—a dozen sheep were climbing atop the stone walls that were supposed to fence them in, using them as walkways.

 

“Nicole!” Amanda called, shaking a letter in the air. “The earl of Belmont passed away a week ago.” She ran down the lawn to where Nicole and Nanny had spread a blanket to play with Geoff after breakfast.

“What?”
Nicole jumped up. “Why didn't they say anything?” Last week, they'd received a missive saying that Tori and Cammy were settling in just fine.

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”

Nicole turned to Nanny. “Will you be all right?” Amanda heard the Scot burring in an amused tone about
the wee bairn being such a doddle
so not to
fash yerself
.

Amanda was mystified when Nicole nodded in understanding. She gave Geoff a quick kiss before she and Amanda stormed to the carriageway. Amanda asked, “You or I?”

“Me.
Carriage!”

When the two rolled into the overgrown gravel drive of the Court, they saw the oddest thing. Tori dug in the dirt, then ran around the corner of the home, then back to her excavation site. With a swift glance at each other, Amanda and Nicole descended from the just halted carriage and followed.

“I don't care what you have to do, do it!” Tori shouted. “The stone's not important. Just get that iron out. Does it look like I care about how this place looks?” she asked with a wave of her hand, indicating the walled rose gardens of the estate that were now tilled, hoed, and in the process of being planted. With crops.

The girl, who before had only had eyes for Grant, was now a self-sure woman.

And a tyrant.

“Ahem.”

Tori whirled around. “Nicole! Lady Stanhope!” She greeted her friends, then sighed. “I suppose you heard?” When they nodded, she said only, “It's a long story.” She was saved from further explanation when Cammy arrived to welcome them.

“Cammy, will you take them up to tea?” Tori asked in a distracted voice. “I've got to get this iron out today or we won't get paid.”

“Certainly,” she said with a light smile, but it was clear Cammy was worried.

Amanda and Nicole made small talk as Cammy showed them inside to a sitting room. Only four chairs, a tea caddy, and a small table occupied the vacant, echoing room, and large squares of unfaded wallpaper stood out on the walls indicating sacrificed paintings.

The three settled the chairs so they could watch Tori lead the horse pulling at the wrought iron gate.

“Please tell us what is happening here,” Amanda said.

Cammy started the tea in a chipped service. “It's not as bad—”

“Don't sugarcoat it, Cammy,” Nicole interrupted in a no-nonsense voice.

“Very well. It's been awful.” The cup and saucer she held out to Amanda shook in her hand. “For days after the funeral, Tori cried, cried enough to break your heart. She lost her grandfather and then was going to lose her new home to this awful mortgagor even if Grant never got around to claiming it. She felt so betrayed because Gr—” She broke off. “Because she was taken back here and then, in her mind, abandoned.”

Amanda shot Nicole a look.

Then all three peered out to see Tori shouting something, brow drawn in concentration. Like a shot, the iron gave, launching her backward in a heap of skirts. The women tensed to run to her, but Tori sprang up with a laughing squeal, grass radiating out from her hair and the back of her dress. She skipped to Huckabee and slapped the man on the back.

“Anyway.” Cammy faced them again. “That night, she just snapped out of it. She was no longer sad. Just very, very angry. She sent Huckabee to sell her grandmother's jewels that her grandfather hadn't been able to part with. She sold saddles. She's been selling everything that isn't nailed down.”

When Cammy paused, they all peeked out to see Tori directing workers with strong arm movements.

“It still wasn't enough. So she…” Cammy bit her lip.

“Go on,” Nicole prompted.

“She sold her mother's wedding ring.”

“Oh, God,” Nicole whispered over Amanda's gasp.

“Why didn't she contact us?” Amanda demanded. “Why didn't you?”

“Because she knew you'd give her money,” Cammy said simply. “Tori's very proud. Plus, she didn't want Grant to know the earl had died. She wanted to prepare herself so she could fight his claim—”

“But Grant told us he gave it up,” Amanda said.

“He told Tori that, but there was a contract,” Cammy pointed out. “Tori can't see how he would just dismiss something he'd worked toward for so long. I believe Grant, but his behavior is rather puzzling.”

“Unless he was in love,” Nicole pointed out. “He might not even have known it.”

 

At luncheon, Nicole explained Grant's absence to Tori and Cammy. “Grant set off to find Ian. Apparently, he was taken by a crimp gang.”

Tori's eyes went wide. “Poor Ian! I can't believe he's going right back out to sea. What can I do?”

“With any luck, Grant will find him and bring him back,” Nicole assured her. “And you know how meticulous Grant is.”

“So he had a reason for not coming by?” Tori asked.

Nicole nodded happily.

“Then why didn't he send word? Why didn't he tell me about Ian?”

Nicole's nod stilled. “He probably didn't want to worry you. From what I understand, you and Ian became friends?”

“Yes, we did.”

“And apparently Ian gets into scrapes. Sometimes there are embarrassing situations that Grant's always managed to keep under wraps.”

Tori tried not to sound too hopeful when she asked, “Did Grant tell you to tell me anything before he left?”

Nicole scratched her inner elbow. “Not specifically. But it was damn well implied.”

Tori frowned at her.

“Very well. He left hastily and everything was so rushed. He could have said something. I was just so busy wishing Derek good-bye.”

He might have said something or he might not have thought of her at all. She'd put good money on the latter, money she had very little of—though not if the Sutherland women had any say.

Throughout the meal, Tori had to turn away offers of money—some veiled, some clever, some imperative—a total of fifteen times.

And when Tori and Cammy were seeing them out, Nicole put her hands on her hips to announce, “We're not leaving until you agree to let us help.”

“I'm so close,” Tori said. “We're right at the breaking point. If everything falls into place, then we can hold them off.” She looked from Nicole to Lady Stanhope. “I want to do this.”

Lady Stanhope cleared her throat. “You've turned into a damn fine…capitalist, Tori. But we can't sit back and watch you lose your home.”

“Please, listen. I've read a few stories that had a hero who couldn't take money from friends, even if it was his downfall, because his pride simply wouldn't allow it. When I read them I didn't understand the importance. I thought, ‘Well, if you say so—I'll go along with it,' and I turned the page. Now it's clear to me. I know I'm not a hero, but I think I have pride like one.”

“Oh, Tori, there's no shame in taking a loan,” Nicole pointed out.

She sighed. “There is if I can't pay it back.”