The Husband List

  Proof of something that no longer existed? Caroline wished her luck with that.

  * * *

  MAMA WAS in the war room, just where Caroline had expected to find her. Oddly, she still wore her blue silk afternoon dress, when it was well past the time to change into evening garb. Her mother had pulled up a chair—or more accurately, someone had pulled up a chair for her—to the library table. She was engrossed in whatever she was writing.

  “Mama?”

  Her mother looked up and briefly smiled. “I was just about to call for you. Come in, Caroline.”

  Caroline moved to the opposite side of the table from her mother.

  “Lord Bremerton and the Carstairs paid a call on me, earlier,” Mama said. “Bremerton asked when your father will be arriving in Newport. This is good news, indeed.”

  “Why?” Caroline asked.

  “If he’s asking for your father, I expect there’s a marriage proposal in the offing.”

  “Simply because he asked when Papa will be here? That’s as far-fetched as Harriet thinking Jack Culhane is going to marry her because her father had a conversation with his.”

  Mama took off her spectacles and focused on Caroline. “Harriet Vandermeulen thinks to marry Jack Culhane? Her father will never permit it. If he did any speaking, it was to tell Jack Culhane’s father that his son should set his sights lower.”

  “You can’t possibly mean that.”

  “They’re in trade, Caroline. I’m not even sure Jack Culhane was born in America, and Patrick Culhane most certainly was not. The Culhane money needs to age for at least three generations before anyone in our circle will touch Jack.”

  But Caroline had touched Jack. She felt a sharp sting of remorse that because of her confession, she never would again.

  “But enough with the over-ambitious Culhanes,” Mama said. “Let’s talk about something endlessly more exciting … your future! I think a short engagement would be best. I am beginning plans for a fall wedding. New York City is beautiful that time of year.”

  “I’ve met the man twice, Mama! I’m not marrying him this autumn. That’s hardly fair to Bremerton or me.”

  Caroline’s mother sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m just so excited that our years of work are finally coming to fruition. A winter wedding, then.”

  “This coming winter?”

  “Of course.”

  It was Caroline’s turn to sigh. “I would prefer the winter of 1995.” Even if Jack didn’t want her, it would take at least a century to adjust to the idea of marrying Bremerton.

  “We don’t always get what we prefer, dear,” Mama said absently as she put her spectacles back on and picked up her pen.

  “I had noticed that,” Caroline replied.

  Her mother muttered something about lilies, but did not look up from her list-making.

  Caroline moved closer and pretended a casual interest in a copy of Town Topics that sat near her edge of the table. Mama always said it was wiser to read the gossip sheet than ignore it. Perhaps her mother would see the same wisdom in listening to Peek.

  “I just had a conversation with Miss Peek,” Caroline said as she turned a page.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “She was quite surprised when she saw Lord Bremerton at the Vandermeulens today. It seems she was unaware that Lord Bremerton’s elder brother had died.”

  “She has lived away from England for a number of years.”

  “But when she did live in England, she had personal knowledge of the last Lord Bremerton. It seems that this one was estranged from both him and their grandfather, the duke.”

  Mama looked up. “As I said, your governess has been gone from England for years. If there was a rift, I’m sure it healed long ago. And even if it hasn’t healed, did it occur to you that Lord Bremerton might not be the party at fault?”

  “Peek says that the late Lord Bremerton was well liked.”

  “The current Lord Bremerton seems to be doing well for himself, too,” Mama said. “He was very charming this afternoon.”

  “Of course he was,” Caroline replied. She couldn’t stop her bitterness from seeping into her voice. “And it’s all an act.”

  She had her mother’s full attention now. “Am I to understand that in this same two days you claim is far too short to get to know the man, you have already judged him?”

  There was an uncomfortable measure of truth in Mama’s words. But there was also truth in what Caroline felt. “I’m sorry, Mama, but he makes the hairs on my arms rise. And you saw how he was last night. He was not nice. Not at all.”

  “As I recall, neither were you.”

  “I’ll agree my behavior was poor, but you were not outside with him, Mama. You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me, as though I’m a child.”

  Mama gave a rueful shake of her head. “In many ways, you are. Marriage is to be accepted … even excitedly anticipated. Don’t you want your own house? Your own staff?”

  “No, I don’t. I want to be young, first. I want to do the things I haven’t been allowed to do … even something as simple as going target shooting with Eddie.”

  “Has it really been all that horrible?”

  “I understand how lucky I am, which is what makes me feel so selfish. You’ve been attentive. I do appreciate that I’ve had more of your time than many of my friends have had from their mothers. But it feels as though every moment of my life with you has been focused on shaping me to be a bride. I want the time to do as I choose and be who I am.”

  “Marriage to Lord Bremerton will give you that. You see the freedom I have,” Mama said, waving one beringed hand. “Your father and I have made our accommodations so that I can pursue my interests and he can pursue his.”

  Caroline was only too aware of that, since her mother’s interests started and stopped with seeing her daughters married well. Sometimes she wondered what Mama would do with herself once that had been achieved.

  “But I want to marry a man who shares my interests,” Caroline said.

  “I’m willing to guess that you don’t even know what Lord Bremerton’s are.”

  “Polo.”

  “And?”

  “Not travel.”

  “And that is the sum total of your knowledge?”

  “I also know there’s something not right about him. I can feel it in here,” she said, settling a hand over her heart.

  Mama shook her head. “The heart is an imperfect thing, Caroline. Go by what you see and what you are told. Spend time with Bremerton. Engage him in conversation. Ask him about his family.” She gave a brief laugh. “You’re relentless enough that you will wear him down. And if he offended his late brother by putting a frog under his pillow as a child—”

  “And his grandfather’s pillow,” Caroline added.

  “Yes,” Mama said impatiently. “And his grandfather’s pillow, you’ll know.”

  “What if it was more than a pair of frogs?”

  “Sound the alarm, then,” Mama said. “But not a moment sooner. And in the meantime, leave me be so I can write this list. We will be back to Rosemeade on Saturday, and I have much to do.”

  At least she’d made some small progress, Caroline thought as she left the room. And even small progress with Mama was a miracle.

  FOURTEEN

  At four on Thursday morning, Jack watched Heinrich Krantz’s carriage roll up to the main gate at Krantz and Sons Brewery. He’d been told the owner prided himself on being the first one there each day. Knowing that, he had walked over from his nearby hotel around three this morning. Not that he’d been able to sleep, anyway. For the past hour, he’d talked with the guards and even joined in on a game of dice. The night had been better spent than if he’d stayed in Newport with Eddie underfoot and Da probably trying to give him romantic advice … as if Da had a clue.

  Krantz exited his coach and marched down the sidewalk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Krantz,” Jack said as he neared.

  “What are you do
ing here? It is not Monday,” Krantz replied without stopping.

  If Jack hadn’t seen the look of surprise on the older man’s face, he’d have thought his effort had failed.

  He fell in step behind Krantz, and then drew even. “I’m here anyway.”

  Krantz glanced his way, but kept up a pace that was amazing for such a portly man. “Why do you think I would care?”

  “Because now you know I’m the first buyer for this place who’s done more than what you ask.”

  Krantz stopped. “So you shoveled for two days, and now you show up when you’re not expected? If you think that’s enough to impress me, leave.”

  They reached the door to the brewery’s office block. As Krantz passed, the guard touched two fingers to the brim of his hat.

  “Here’s what I think, sir,” Jack said as they started up the wide stairway to Krantz’s office. “I think hard work is one thing I do consistently better than most people. I like hard work. I like going to sleep each night knowing I’ve achieved something, and I like getting up the next day and doing something even better.”

  “And what did you think to achieve today?” Krantz asked as he opened the mahogany door to his office’s reception area.

  “I want to come to terms on a sale.” If there was one part of his life Jack could get right, business was it. “Not because I have a problem shoveling stables, or doing any other job that makes this business run efficiently, but because I have another pressing matter that will not allow me the pleasure of time spent away on an uncertainty.”

  Krantz walked on to his office. Jack followed. The older man turned on the electric lights, and the room began to glow. However, the bitter scent of cigar smoke still permeated every possible surface.

  Krantz headed to his desk, where he settled into a chair that made his seat at the room’s board table look like a pauper’s stool. Ornate carvings that reached a good two feet above the older man’s head depicted medieval King Gambrinus, the supposed patron saint of beer.

  “Sit,” the brewery owner commanded.

  Jack did as ordered, his chair as squat as a toad. He had to appreciate the business ploy, if not the fact that his line of vision was not much higher than the top of Krantz’s oversized desk.

  “How old are you?” Krantz asked.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “And how many years do you have in the brewery business?”

  “Four.”

  Krantz laughed. “Faugh! Four. When I was your age, I had spent fifteen years in breweries. But at least you don’t lie.” He reached for what appeared to be yesterday’s half-finished cigar. “I have already talked to my contacts. I know all that is to be known about you.”

  With luck, that didn’t include the recent development of being such a horse’s ass he couldn’t even recognize when someone was falling in love with him.

  Or he with her …

  Damn, he thought, as shock burned through him as strong as an electrical current. All the same, he tried to keep an impassive expression. He’d mucked up enough lately without letting this deal slip through his fingers.

  Krantz pulled a match from the box on his desk and drew it across the striker. A sulfurous scent burned Jack’s nostrils. While the brewery owner puffed his cigar back to life, he gazed levelly at Jack.

  “My contacts tell me you have a passion for beer and a talent for business,” the older man said once he was satisfied with his cigar. “But they also say you have just added a brewery in New York. I think you take on too much, too soon.”

  Jack smiled for the first time since yesterday afternoon. “That beats the hell out of too little, too late, don’t you think, sir?”

  Krantz gave him a tick of a smile. “Did you know you are not the first buyer I tried to send to my stables?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you are the first to go.” He puffed on his cigar. “That makes you mad or a genius. I have decided you are mad. But I did like the two days of free labor.”

  Jack laughed.

  “So what do you offer today?”

  Jack thought quickly. “I offer you two more days of my time. If you let me see more than the stables, by the close of business tomorrow, I’ll tell you what I would change about this place and what I have learned from you. I’ll keep my nose out of your beer recipes and finances, but otherwise I need access from cellars to roof.”

  Krantz gave a slow shake of his head. “You are a madman. If you tell me anything I don’t already know … which I say now is impossible … how will you stop me from using it? Just because you do this, I will not promise to sell the brewery to you.”

  “I don’t want to stop you from using what I share,” Jack said. “Even if you do sell this place out from under me, I’m ahead. The stronger my competitors are, the harder I work to be better. But by tomorrow night, you’ll be ready to negotiate with me.”

  The brewery owner drew on his cigar and let loose a stream of smoke. “Then go to work, madman.”

  Jack smiled. Business, he knew. Love, not so much.

  * * *

  LORD BREMERTON had come calling at three o’clock. According to Mrs. Longhorne’s grandfather clock, it was now three-twenty-four. Time was creeping like a haggard crone, which was what Caroline expected to be before the Englishman departed. Caroline had picked up a few tidbits that Mama, who was chaperoning from the other side of the room, found enthralling. Caroline was not encouraged by them.

  When Bremerton was not playing polo, he was fond of fencing. And when he was not fencing, he enjoyed passing time at one of his clubs. He did not read for pleasure. He did not wish to learn to golf or try deep-sea fishing or explore the world in any way at all. The sole common bond he and Caroline shared was breathing the same air. Caroline was tapped out. And bored.

  “Miss Maxwell, perhaps we should walk the grounds. You’re looking a bit sleepy,” Bremerton suggested.

  Caroline nearly rolled her eyes. A walk. What was it with men and their walks? Mama cleared her throat and made a shooing motion toward the terrace door. Caroline was trapped.

  “A walk sounds delightful,” she said to Bremerton. “I believe I owe you one in any case.”

  “We’ll stay within view of the house,” Bremerton said in an ingratiating tone to Mama as he ushered Caroline outside.

  “Do you plan to run this time?” he asked once the door had closed behind them.

  Deciding that he must have been trying to show humor with the question, Caroline smiled. “No. Do you wish to go farther than the terrace?”

  “Yes.” He offered her his arm in such a way that she knew refusing it was not an option. Caroline steeled herself but still couldn’t hide her shiver when they touched.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” Bremerton asked.

  “I’m adjusting to the breeze.”

  They took the broad steps to the lawn. The lace on Caroline’s pale-blue-and-white striped dress fluttered, and the scent of the roses that grew at the base of the terrace perfumed the air. It was an idyllic day with a thoroughly unsuitable man. Caroline supposed she had better become accustomed to that, since the only man who seemed to suit her was Jack.

  “Please tell me about your family,” she said as Bremerton led her toward a small Roman folly built close to the seaward edge of the property. “You’ve met my mother and my siblings, and you’ll meet my father at the upcoming costume ball, but I don’t know very much about the people in your life.”

  “My immediate family is small and scattered,” he replied. “I have one sister who is married, and my brother passed away six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “We were not close.”

  “Really?”

  “Percy was six years older than I,” Bremerton said.

  “My brother, Edward, is six years older than Percy, but we’re still close.”

  “Percy was off to school before I was old enough to know him. We were distant.”

  “Always?”

  “Y
es, always.”

  Caroline tried again. “I know from being drilled on Debrett’s that you have both a father and grandfather living. Do you see them on the holidays, at least?”

  “Is there a purpose to this inquisition?” he asked in such a sharp tone that she looked up at him and stumbled a little at the anger on his face. He lengthened his stride and directed her into the middle of the temple-shaped folly. “I asked if there is a purpose, Miss Maxwell?”

  She drew a breath and gathered herself. “Is there a purpose in trying to frighten me, Lord Bremerton?”

  His expression grew bland. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I’m referring to your tone of voice and to the way you propelled me into here.”

  “I was merely helping you find your balance,” he said smoothly. “And the folly seemed a suitable romantic spot to pause in our walk. You are seeking romance, Miss Maxwell, and I am endeavoring to provide it.”

  Caroline tried to slip her hand free from the crook of his elbow, but he pressed his arm closer to his body. She tried again. His face remained impassive.

  “I would like my hand, please,” she finally requested.

  “All you ever need to do is ask,” he said, letting her go. “There is no need for drama.”

  But there was a need for escape before she lost her temper. Because he stood in the doorway, she walked between two of the folly’s columns and took a step toward the house.

  “Please wait a moment, Miss Maxwell.”

  Mama stood on the terrace, pretending to be invisible. Caroline willed Mama to walk her way, but either mama lacked the ability to read minds or Caroline lacked the ability to communicate telepathically.

  “Do you enjoy the view better from there?” the Englishman asked.

  “Yes,” she said, with her back turned to him.