Page 18 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)

Chapter 17

Windfall

B ea fretted. A week had gone by and there was still no sign of Roger’s promised visit. Had he changed his mind?

“He’ll come,” her father assured her as they ate breakfast. “It’s a worrisome time for him with all that’s going on.”

She’d confided in him after he’d sensed her excitement, but she didn’t want Peter to be privy to her secret. There’d be time enough to tell him once her relationship with Roger was confirmed as serious.

“Who are you expecting?” her cousin asked, with his mouth full of buttered toast.

“Sandiford,” her father replied gleefully. “He wants to court Bea.”

Furious he’d divulged her secret, Bea was nevertheless mystified by Peter’s reaction. Scowling, he dropped the toast, threw down his napkin, and stood. “You can’t marry a tradesman,” he shouted, eyes narrowed and thunder darkening his face. “Your behavior with him at the wake was scandalous. Besides, I planned to ask for your hand again. I’m a much more suitable candidate. He’s even been questioned about the murder of that unfortunate lad.”

Bea’s throat tightened. She hadn’t known Roger had been a suspect, but it was a ridiculous notion. How had Peter become aware of it? She retorted without thinking. “But you’re my cousin, Peter, on top of which I don’t love you.”

“What’s love got to do with it?” he asked indignantly.

“If you have to ask that question, then you …”

A demanding knock at the front door signaled a reprieve. Thinking Roger had come calling at last, she hurried into the foyer in time to see Glenda open the door.

“What are you doing here?” her maid demanded.

Bea stared in disappointed disbelief at a pair of bright yellow pantaloons.

The shocks continued when Peter nigh on knocked Glenda over and shook hands with the visitor, “James,” he exclaimed. “What a nice surprise. How did you get here?”

“Peter,” a grinning Odlum replied. “Bosom beau. Took a hack and the insolent driver was none too happy to bring me out to the back of beyond.”

The penny dropped. Peter’s pal with the ducal uncle was James Odlum, and Bea doubted very much if his visit was a surprise to Peter.

“Odlum,” her father shouted gleefully when he entered the foyer. “Come in, come in.”

Bea was wary. She’d never fully trusted Odlum, nor Peter for that matter, but her father had always appreciated the fop’s help in getting them to Lancashire.

Arm in arm with his bosom beau , Peter led the way into the sitting room.

“I say,” Odlum announced, as he made himself at home on the settee. “You’ve worked wonders with this place.”

Bea wondered how he knew that, since he hadn’t accompanied them on their first visit to Belmont Grange. Even her father raised an eyebrow.

“Peter told me what a ruin it was.”

His statement didn’t ease Bea’s misgivings. Even Peter hadn’t seen the original dilapidated state of the Grange, and when could the pair have discussed it?

“You’re wondering why I’m here,” the fop said, as he extracted a sheaf of papers from his satchel. “Messrs. Hardman, Burgesse, and Hilton sent me with this documentation. It was apparently overlooked. Some mix-up at the Westminster Bank.”

Her father adjusted his spectacles as Odlum handed him the documents.

Bea worried when the color drained from his face. “I’m so sorry. This changes the future,” he said.

It wasn’t so much the words that bothered Bea as the fact they were addressed directly to her.

* * *

“Things are looking up,” Roger told his mother as they sat down for breakfast. “Two payments received on overdue accounts this week.”

He’d divulged nothing about Miss Parker’s willingness to accept his courtship. Experience had taught him never to count his chickens before they hatched. Nevertheless, life ran more smoothly when a man was in love and the feelings were reciprocated.

“I wondered why you seem chipper these days,” Lucinda replied. “I thought perhaps there was news of progress with the investigation.”

“No, although Halliwell and I visited Mrs. Pickering. Did you know she has ten children?”

“Did she say if her son came home after work that day?”

“No, he didn’t, but she mentioned he rarely does. Apparently, he and a couple of delinquents hang about the mill getting into mischief.”

“Did she give you names?”

“No. To be honest, she seemed relieved to have one less mouth to feed.”

His mother narrowed her eyes, a sure sign he had to offer a better excuse for his good humor. “Well, Brownlow’s bales have the mules humming again, if only for a short time.”

“That’s not the reason,” she insisted. “I watched you and Miss Parker at the ball last week. You’re smitten with her.”

She knew him too well, and Roger couldn’t contain himself. “Be happy for me, Mama. She’s agreed to accept my suit. I planned to seek her father’s permission before now, but getting the mill running again has kept me busy.”

“You know what they say. Strike while the iron is hot.”

“I’ll go out to the Grange this very day,” he declared, suddenly panicked by the possibility Beatrice might have changed her mind.

“I hope you’ve thought this through,” Lucinda cautioned.

“There’s nothing to think about,” he replied.

“I suppose I always assumed you’d wed a Lancashire lass. You have nothing in common with Beatrice Parker.”

“Except that we love each other.”

“Only time will tell,” Lucinda sighed.

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Bea replied to her father’s statement.

“It’s a mortgage,” he explained. “On Sandiford’s mill.”

“It appears the late baron held the mortgages on Broadclough Mill and the Sandiford dwelling,” Odlum supplied. “Now, his heir holds them.”

“But what does that mean?” Bea asked, dread knotting her innards.

“It means,” her father said slowly, “if Sandiford defaults, I’ll have no choice but to repossess the mill and the house.”

“Exactly,” Odlum replied, with too much glee for Bea’s liking. “Apparently, contrary to expectations, he’s managed to scrape together the latest payment, and I have it here, minus our commission of course. It seems the late baron didn’t trust the bank. He always demanded the cash be brought to him.”

Her suspicions mounting, Bea watched Odlum count out four five-pound notes into her father’s hand.

Her father stared at the money. It was more than he earned in a year in Milton Abbas. Surely this financial windfall meant a brighter future. If her father held the mortgage, Roger need never worry about …

“In light of this development,” her father said wearily. “I cannot give my blessing to Sandiford’s suit. And he must never know I hold the mortgages.”

“But Papa,” she wailed.

Peter patted her hand. “You must understand, my dear,” he said with a patronizing grin. “Business and pleasure don’t mix.”

* * *

As he stepped down from his brougham, Roger was pleased to note the immense improvement in the gardens surrounding Belmont Grange. The dead trees and shrubs had been removed and the weeds banished. Even the house looked less like a gothic ruin.

Approaching the door, he mused about moving Beatrice into his home once they married. It wouldn’t be easy with Lucinda, but surely his mother would see he loved Beatrice and make allowances. He hoped Miss Parker hadn’t become too attached to the Grange. It was a nonsensical thought. She hadn’t lived on the moor long enough to …

His thoughts were interrupted when the unwelcome cousin emerged from the house in the company of a fellow who could only be the ponce he’d met briefly at the train station. As far as he was aware, no one else wore bright yellow pantaloons. The pair were giggling like schoolboys. An elusive memory nagged at him but Leigh spoke before he could gather his thoughts.

“Sorry, old chap,” the Londoner crooned. “My uncle wanted me to convey his regrets. Beatrice is already spoken for.”

“Spoken for?” Roger echoed, fearing he was hallucinating.

“She and I are betrothed,” came the reply.

“I see,” Roger muttered, afraid his trembling legs might buckle. He had to get back to the carriage with his shattered pride intact. Beatrice had led him on when all the while she’d known she was promised to another. Peter had been laughing at him.