In exchange, everyone had promised to refrain from ever mentioning the thorny dilemma.
But Esther was dead now, and Jacob was head of the family. If he wanted to establish a relationship with his half-brothers, it probably wasn’t any of Roxanne’s business. Or was it? On the spur of the moment, she couldn’t decide.
“Are you certain about this?” she asked him.
“No, but I’m doing it anyway. The involved combatants—the two wives and the one husband—are deceased. There’s no reason for their children to carry on the fight.”
“That is a very generous attitude.”
“Or maybe I’m going mad in my old age.”
“Maybe.”
They smiled, and it occurred to her that she’d enjoy climbing into his bed. With his being a sailor, he’d know his way around a mattress. She wouldn’t have to teach him any tricks.
“I have a question,” she said, “and you don’t have to answer immediately. You can think about it.”
“What is it?”
“We’re announcing our betrothal in September, then we’re to wed the following spring when you’re in England again, but it’s silly to delay that long. What if we moved up the date and wed before your current furlough ends?”
“We’d proceed right after the engagement party?”
“We could hold the wedding the last day of the party—while the guests are here.” She kept her expression carefully blank. “It’s just a thought. I can’t convince myself that we must wait until next spring. It was your mother’s plan, but as you pointed out, she’s not present to tell us how to act.”
His expression was blank too, so she had no idea how he viewed the suggestion. Ultimately, he said, “It might work. Let me ponder it.”
“No hurry, no worry.”
He stood and started for the door, but he peered back and said, “I spoke to Margaret this morning. Mr. Howell left her penniless, and she’s been fretting about her situation.”
“She told me. I wish he was still alive so I could wring his neck.”
“She’s been afraid I’d kick her out. More specifically, she’s been afraid that you might be opposed to her tarrying, but I assured her she’s welcome to stay at Ralston Place—forever if she’d like. I assume you don’t have a problem with that notion.”
He stared at her in a steely manner, as if he was administering a test, and her reply was simple. “I love Margaret. How could I have a problem with her staying?”
It was an easy lie to spew, and he swallowed it, then he strolled out. She listened as his booted strides faded down the hall. Once it was silent again, she blew out a heavy breath.
She liked Margaret, but the house was Margaret’s childhood home, so she felt a poignant attachment to it. But Roxanne was about to be mistress of the manor, so she and Margaret would get on fine—if Margaret continued to mope in her bedchamber. If she began to complain about Roxanne’s management, then they’d quarrel.
Margaret would accede to Roxanne’s demands, or Roxanne would make her so miserable that she’d leave. About that pertinent fact, Roxanne had no doubt at all. She was finally at the spot she’d been meant to occupy, and she wouldn’t be thwarted over any issue.
From the time she was a girl, there had been talk of her marrying Jacob, but at fifteen, she’d committed a blunder that had wrecked her chance. She’d spent a decade in Italy, and now, she had the opportunity to rectify her prior mistake.
Over the winter, when his mother, Esther, had contacted her and offered the match, Roxanne had shuddered with relief and had fled Florence in an instant.
She and Jacob were plodding along at the slow schedule Esther had set prior to her death, but Roxanne couldn’t follow it. There was a huge scandal dragging after her from Italy—namely two lovers dueling over her—and she had to have Jacob’s ring on her finger before it caught up with her in England.
After they tied the knot, if he heard any stories, she would vehemently deny them. And if he refused to believe her? She’d be his bride, and it would be too late for him to do anything about it.
Kit Boswell lurked in the doorway of the parlor Roxanne had turned into her office. There was a mirror on the wall, and he wasn’t surprised to find her preening in front of it. She was absolutely fixated on her looks.
She was as strikingly beautiful as she’d been when they were adolescents, but the years had added a maturity to her features so she appeared even more exotic. She had white-blond hair and coal-black eyes that shouldn’t have blended in a pleasing way, but on her, they were mesmerizing. He’d certainly thought so when he’d been younger.
She was willowy, possessed of a feminine figure that caused men to stop and gape when she walked by. She knew it though, and she enjoyed tormenting the oafs who danced to her tune. He’d never be one of them again.
Esther had completed the betrothal without informing him. If she had, he’d have had a few comments to share that might have prevented it, but his opinion hadn’t been sought.
Roxanne had waltzed in before he’d realized she was scheduled to arrive. He’d been stunned to see her, but he’d swiftly regrouped. She had no secrets from him, and he wondered how he could use them to his own benefit.
“Well, well,” he said, his tone taunting, “if it isn’t Captain Ralston’s glowing fiancée.”
She whipped around and glared. “Why are you pestering me, Kit? Don’t you have herds to tend or trees to prune? Surely there’s a chore to occupy you.”
“I’m totally at leisure, so I decided we should chat.”
“You may not be busy, but I am. Why don’t you scurry off to some other
