скачать книгу бесплатно
Prosperous business opportunity for the right gentleman. Guaranteed full return on investment within three months, including interest. If interested, please contact newspaper for more information.
At first he’d thought the ad had been some kind of prank, but his gut told him it wasn’t. Years ago, he’d learned to follow his gut instincts and to trust in them, so three weeks ago he had contacted the paper. They informed him all correspondences would be made through them.
Within a week of responding to the advertisement, he’d received his first reply and was shocked to discover the advertisement had been written by a woman, a woman who had asked many questions about his life. Such as, how old he was, what he did for a living, where he was from, why he was interested in becoming a business partner and many more. Harrison answered each one honestly, and even asked some of his own. The hardest one to answer was, “Why are you willing to invest?”
Need. That’s why. He glanced at the legal paper lying on his desk mere inches from his fingers. With a heavy sigh, he picked up his father’s will and re-read the final stipulation, the very one he had memorized by now.
Notwithstanding anything contained herein, in order for my son, Harrison James Kingsley, to receive his full inheritance as set forth above, he must first prove that he is capable of operating my businesses. As proof of such capability, Harrison must start his own business, which business may be in any manner of industry or trade but which (a) must be located in a community other than Boston and specifically in a community in which he is unknown to the other residents, and (b) must show a profit of at least 1,000 dollars before his twenty-fifth birthday. If he fails to satisfy the foregoing requirements on or before his twenty-fifth birthday, all my assets will be divided equally between the following charities...
Anger bubbled up inside Harrison as it did every time he read that section of his father’s will. He tossed the paper onto the desk, pinched his eyes shut and pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips and thumb. How could his father do this to him? Give him so little time to accomplish this? Did his father really hate him that much? Or was he still punishing him for the death of his mother? Harrison didn’t know. But what he did know was that his father still controlled him, even from the grave.
Harrison Kingsley, Sr. had controlled and manipulated him since his birth. Every minute of Harrison’s day had been planned by his father, who ordered the staff to see to it that his strict regimen was followed to the letter. Not only had he been told what to wear, where to go, when to go, who to see, but also whom he was to marry.
It was there Harrison had drawn the line. On the day of his twenty-first birthday, he eloped and married the love of his life, Allison. When his father found out, he was livid and stripped Harrison of any and all income. To this day, Harrison had no idea how his father had managed it, but no one would even consider hiring him for fear of his father’s vengeance.
Harrison had even thought about moving out west in hopes of gaining employment there, but he’d had no money to support them along the way. The final determining factor came when his wife developed complications and was confined to her bed during the remainder of her pregnancy. No other choice remained but to once again succumb to his father’s strict rule of thumb.
Soon after his sons were weaned from their mother’s milk, Allison disappeared, leaving a note saying she no longer loved him. Harrison’s heart had been ripped from him that day and his only consolation was his sons.
Days after his father’s death, Harrison received a parcel that contained two letters. One from Allison, and one from a Mrs. Lan informing him that Allison had been killed in a buggy accident, and that the woman had been asked if anything ever happened to Allison, to send the letter to Harrison.
Allison’s letter stated how she’d never stopped loving him, and that his father had forced her to leave by threatening to withdraw all financial support from them. When that hadn’t worked, he’d threatened to send the boys to boarding school. Allison knew how Harrison despised the idea of sending his sons to boarding school and how powerless he was against his father. She loved him and the twins too much to let that happen, so she’d left. Harrison felt the pain of that decision even now. What kind of father did something like that to his son, anyway?
He’d always known his father resented him and blamed him for his wife’s death. But to go to those extremes? To strip him of the wife he loved and his innocent children of a mother’s love? That was low, even for his father.
Determination rose up inside of Harrison like a geyser. His boys had suffered enough at the hands of their grandfather. He’d be hanged if he’d let them lose their inheritance, too. Therefore, he decided he would do whatever it took to make sure that didn’t happen. His father thought he’d defeated him even in his death. Well, he’d show him.
His gaze slid to the will sitting in front of him.
His only hope in fulfilling the detestable stipulation his father had thrust on him in such short notice was the one line from Miss Bowen’s advertisement, “Guaranteed full return on investment within three months, including interest.”
He gaped at the envelope staring back at him, wondering if its contents would seal his fate or secure his future. Perhaps it was a good sign that this one had been mailed directly to him instead of going through the newspaper. He read the return address.
Miss Abigail Bowen
777 Grant Street
Hot Mineral Springs, Colorado.
Just where Hot Mineral Springs was in Colorado, he didn’t know. Didn’t matter. Going out west to see the rugged Rocky Mountains he’d heard so much about from his friends and their travels was something he’d always wanted to do. Now he just might get that chance.
He pressed his hand to his aching, nervous gut, and drew in a deep breath, blowing it out long and slow as he broke the seal off the envelope, and slipped the letter from its pouch.
Dear Mr. Kingsley,
From what you have said in your posts regarding the stipulation in your father’s will, it sounds like this business arrangement would be as advantageous for you as it would be for me. Therefore, after much consideration, I have decided to offer you the first chance at this opportunity.
Please let me know what you decide as soon as possible so I can let the other gentlemen who responded to my advertisement know your decision.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Abigail Bowen
Harrison paused and gazed at nothing in particular in the large office decorated only with the finest of furnishings. This whole arrangement was almost too good to be true. Either that or it was just crazy enough to work.
The way he saw it, this was his only chance to get the inheritance he needed to secure his twins’ future. And since no other prospect had presented itself, he had no other choice but to give Miss Bowen’s dinner theater prospect, something she had mentioned in one of her previous letters, a try. What money he had saved from working for his father wouldn’t go far if he didn’t find a way to secure at least his position in his father’s businesses, if not the outright inheritance.
It would also enable him to fulfill his lifelong goal to right the wrongs his father had done to the fine people in Boston, and to restore the Kingsley name to what it had once been.
The discovery of his father’s true legacy still pained him greatly. It was after the death of his mother that his father had changed so drastically. He’d become a bitter, angry, vindictive man with no scruples when it came to business. Every time Harrison thought of the things his father had done, how he had cheated those poor people out of their businesses and their homes, his stomach churned with sorrow and disgust. Like now. The only way to take care of those matters would be to take Miss Bowen up on her offer, and then come back to take over the helm and set things right.
Rather than take the risk of his post to Miss Bowen getting lost in the mail and her taking on another partner, he decided to go a faster route. He would send a telegram and head out west immediately.
He quickly penned a short telegraph message and reached over and pulled the string, ringing for his butler.
Forsyth stepped into his office and stopped in front of the expansive desk, his posture stiff as a wooden plank, his black suit and white shirt pressed to perfection, his white gloves immaculate. “What may I do for you, sir?”
“Have Staimes pack my clothes. Tell him we’ll be going out of town for a couple of months or so. Let Miss Elderberry know, too, so she can pack for her and the boys. I’ll need you to take care of things here while I’m gone.” Harrison handed his trusted butler, who never revealed or spoke of Harrison’s affairs with anyone, a folded slip of paper. “Send this telegram out immediately and purchase tickets on the next train heading to Hot Mineral Springs, Colorado.”
“Yes, Mr. Kingsley. Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I will take care of this immediately.”
“I know you will. Thank you, Forsyth.”
“You’re quite welcome.” With that, the aging man who’d served his father well, and now him, turned and left the room.
The leather chair creaked as Harrison settled his back into its softness. His gaze dropped to the letter, her letter, still lying on his desk. A peace he hadn’t felt in a long time settled inside him. He had a gut feeling this arrangement would indeed fulfill the nonsensical stipulations in his father’s will along with everything else, too.
He could be back in Boston in three months with a new future for himself and his family, a future filled with hope that he himself had never known.
* * *
“Abby, this telegram is for you.” Colette Denis walked into the room of Abby’s three-story mansion, holding a slip of yellow paper. Abby was so grateful Colette and her two sisters had decided to come with her to Hot Mineral Springs. Since her mother’s remarriage, the Denis sisters’ maid services were no longer needed back in Paradise Haven. Mother refused to let them go, though, until Abby had come up with a plan to take them with her. She needed their services and the sisters had no family in Paradise Haven so they were more than happy to move with her and to work for her.
Abby dropped the washcloth she was using to wipe down the windowsills and bookshelves in her office into the bucket of soapy water. She dried her hands on the only dry spot left on her apron and took the telegram from Colette. “Thank you, Colette.” She slid the paper into the pocket of her skirt. “Did you remember to stop by the mercantile and post my ad for a carpenter on their bulletin board?” Colette had a tendency to get distracted and forget what she was doing. Abby did, too, so she could relate to the girl who had a good heart but a somewhat scattered brain.
“Oui. Well, at least I tried to, anyway.”
“What do you mean, you tried?” Abby’s lips pursed into a frown, and she pushed back the wet strands of hair plastered on her cheeks.
“When I went to tack it onto the corkboard, I could not reach the only empty place. This nice man offered to help, so I gave it to him. But when he looked at the ad, he asked if he could keep it.” Colette wrung her hands and her green eyes shaped like an almond shell drifted over to Abby, then cut to the floor.
“Is something wrong, Colette?”
Colette glanced at Abby, then back at the ground again. “I—I am so sorry, mademoiselle, but he is here.”
“Who’s here? The man who kept my post?”
“No, mademoiselle. Mr. Kingsley.”
“Mr. Kingsley?” Abby frowned, then her eyes bounced open at the recognition of the name. “Mr. Kingsley is here? Now?”
“Oui. I am sorry.” Remorse crackled through Colette’s voice. “That telegram came several days back, but I forget to give it to you. When I went to wash my dress just now, I found it.” Colette rattled on, intermingling French with English.
Abby heard nothing more as she looked down at her soaked apron and the simple blue dress she wore to do chores in. She caught Colette’s gaze glossed over with unshed tears. Her heart went out to the poor girl who tried so hard, but always seemed to fall short. She looped arms with Colette and headed toward the door. “Don’t you go crying now, you hear? I know you didn’t mean to forget. Nothing in this life is worth fretting over. Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. God has a plan. Even in this.” Abby encouraged her, sincerely hoping she could take some of her own advice. What was she going to do? He was here!
Well, she couldn’t let that bother her. He was here, so she might as well go ahead and make the best of it. She just hoped and prayed he wasn’t one of those snobbish businessmen like the city council members were, one who would surely look down his nose at her attire and might even judge her for it. Nothing in his letters indicated he was. But even if he was, she decided as they headed to the door, that was his problem, not hers.
Realizing she still had a hold of Colette’s arm, Abby let it go, but her attention stayed riveted on the sixteen-year-old girl, looking for any sign that she felt better. The frown on the young girl’s heart-shaped face disappeared, and Abby was glad to see it. “Are you all right now?”
A moment and Colette nodded.
“Good.” Abby smiled, and without looking where she was going, she stepped into the hallway and turned right. Her body collided into a granite wall of flesh and stumbled backward.
Something warm, strong, yet gentle secured her arm.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was—” Words escaped her the instant her eyes landed on the sculptured face of the handsome man gazing down at her, still holding her arm.
He looked every bit as startled as she was. “Are you all right, miss?”
“I’m—I’m fine. Thank you.” She straightened. Only mere inches from him, her eyes never drifted from his. Something was different about his eyes. Abby looked at one, then the other. One was minutely wider, and the other looked like it hadn’t quite awakened yet because the outer half of his eyelid rested against his eyelashes a little heavier than the other one did.
That wasn’t what was different about them, though.
Abby placed her fingertip on her lip. It was something else. Then she spotted it. Her mouth formed into an O. Both eyes were grayish-blue except the right one. A third of the lower iris was hazel. The amber color started small at his pupil, but spread out, ending with the same grayish-blue as the rest of his eye. She had never seen anything like that before. “I’m sorry for staring, but you have very unusual eyes. They’re quite beautiful.”
Those same eyes, surrounded by long but straight medium brown eyelashes, twinkled. “Thank you.” He said it like he meant it, but his closed-lipped smile didn’t stretch very far. Far enough, though, to reveal a crescent-moon line on one side of his half-full lips and a quarter-crescent moon on the other. “Could you please tell me where I might find Miss Abigail Bowen?”
“Abigail? Oh. Oh. Yes. I’m Abby.” She waved her hand at her momentary lapse into forgetfulness because no one ever called her Abigail. Except her mother, and that was only when Abby was in trouble.
Surprise flounced across his face, and his attention drifted over her again, starting with her feet and ending at her hair. “You’re Miss Bowen?” One of his eyebrows peaked.
Hey. She knew she looked a mess, but the man didn’t need to be so blatantly rude with his disapproving perusal of her. Abby pushed her shoulders back and stood as tall as her five-foot-six-inch frame would allow. “Yes, sir, I am.”
Once again, his gaze roamed over her.
This time, she wouldn’t let it steal her joy or her peace.
If he didn’t approve of what he saw, again, that was his problem, not hers. But in all fairness, the man did have a good reason to be shocked. He probably wasn’t expecting to see her looking like a scullery maid, especially since from his perspective, she should have been waiting to meet him for the first time. “Please forgive my appearance. Because of an oversight, I didn’t get word of your arrival until a moment ago, so you caught me in the middle of cleaning.”
“So I see.” A chuckle vibrated through his low, brassy voice. “Well, Miss Bowen. I’m Harrison Kingsley.” He reached for her hand.
Abby quickly tucked both her hands behind her back. “Trust me, Mr. Kingsley. You do not want to touch these hands. They’ve been in soapy water all morning and probably feel pricklier than pig bristles.” And the rest of her, she was certain looked even worse. Oh, well, couldn’t be helped. She had a lot to do. If his time was as valuable to him as hers was to her, rather than keep him waiting while she cleaned up, she decided to go ahead and get right down to business. “Colette, would you make some tea and bring it to the parlor?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.” Colette curtsied.
“Thank you.” Abby spoke to Colette’s retreating back before she turned and faced Mr. Kingsley. What a fine specimen of a man he was. Like one of the heroes in the dime novels she often read. Only she hoped he wasn’t as stuffy as some of the heroes in those books seemed to be.
She couldn’t help but wonder, if instead of the dark blue three-piece suit Mr. Kingsley had on, what would he look like in a blue plaid shirt, denim blue jeans, Hyer boots and a black Stetson? No. Nix the cowboy hat. It would cover up that lovely head of medium brown hair. Abby liked the way he parted it—not on the side, not in the center, but in between the two, and straight in line with the inside of his right eyebrow.
She pried her attention from his broad-shouldered frame. “Shall we?” Abby swayed her upward palm toward the direction of the parlor. At his nod, she headed that way, tucking the loose strands of hair back into place as she went.
Having someone as handsome and fine-looking as Mr. Kingsley for a business partner was going to be a lot harder than she had anticipated. She’d always been a sucker for a handsome face. Probably due to all those romance novels she’d read. A handsome face didn’t guarantee happiness, though, as she had discovered with David. The most important elements in any human being were their hearts and their souls.
While that was definitely true, a quick glance at the gorgeous man standing in front of her, and she knew because of the romantic nature in her, she would have to work very hard at keeping her focus on business, or she might very well risk opening up her heart. Having done that once before, she refused to do it again. Therefore, her hopeless romantic notions would have to stay locked deep inside her heart, tucked away safely, even from herself. No. Make that especially from herself.
Chapter Two
Harrison’s footsteps thumped on the old hardwood floor that was in need of a good polishing, ricocheting off the walls of the large mansion as he followed Miss Bowen to the parlor. The place was almost barren. There wasn’t much furniture and the walls were empty.
As they made their way toward the parlor, he marveled that the woman hadn’t even offered to go and clean up first. The little beauty was an unpretentious woman, and he liked that. Back in Boston he was surrounded by ostentatious women. The type of women he would rather avoid.
His possible new business partner wasn’t anything like them, or what he had expected. He’d expected a woman of sophistication. Pious and haughty like his ex-fiancée, Prudence Whitsburg. Not a veritable maid who smelled of cleaning soap and dust.
Yellow strands of hair had come loose from her bun. Some of them clung to her damp, yet slender neck. Black smudges brushed across her lightly freckled nose and above her delicately arched eyebrows. Yet none of that deterred her beauty from shining through. Her sapphire eyes smiled even when her lips didn’t, and long medium brown eyelashes surrounded them. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the upper one, and when she smiled, straight white teeth sparkled back at him.
They reached the parlor door and stepped inside. Harrison held back his shock. The only pieces of furniture in the expansive room were a worn-out, faded, blue settee, a matching wing-back chair in the same shape as the settee, a scratched and marred coffee table and a small, round table with a blue globe oil lamp sitting on a white-and-blue doily.
His attention went to the massive fireplace. Several framed photographs lined the mantel, along with two oil lamps, one on each end. Other than that, the room was almost empty. Nothing hung on these walls, either. He didn’t know if this was where she planned on opening her business or not. They hadn’t gotten that far. But if it was, it was going to take a lot of money to fix this place up. More than he had right now. And that made him more nervous than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
“Mr. Kingsley, won’t you be seated?” Miss Bowen’s voice reverberated throughout the empty room and thankfully yanked his attention away from where his taxing thoughts were heading.
She motioned for him to sit. When he reached the chair, he noticed how clean it was. How clean the whole room was. Even the bare windows sparkled. He sat down and was amazed at how comfortable the aged chair actually was.
Miss Bowen sat across from him on the settee, facing him.
The young girl who she’d told to get tea entered the room. She set a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of cookies with some sort of filling in the centers on the coffee table in front of them. She went right to work pouring the tea into the cups and serving it along with two cookies on the side.
“Thank you, Colette.”
The girl turned.
“Don’t leave just yet, Colette.”
Colette faced them, nodded and waited.
Abby looked over at him and asked, “Mr. Kingsley, would you like to join us for dinner this evening?”
He saw no reason not to. “I would like that. Thank you.”
She smiled and turned her attention back to her maid. “Would you tell Veronique we’ll be having a guest join us for dinner this evening?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.” With a quick curtsy, Colette left the room.
