Page 51 of To Treasure an Heiress
With a snort—a dignified one, somehow—Ainsley loweredback down to the bench. “That apparently doesn’t stop my cousin from making things up. He’s convinced the Scofields that he’s my confidant—that they can get at me, and hence you, through him. Now he wants to draw Miss Dawe into it, too, and have her provide him with actual information in exchange for his affection and a marriage proposal.”
“As if that would be a prize.” Sheridan would have muttered a few other choice words, had he not known that his valet would lecture him on it. “Well, I’m not concerned that she’ll turn on the Tremaynes—they’re family. But your cousin himself is a different story. What’s he told them?”
“He wouldn’t say. Except to point out that I ought to thank him for blathering on, since it meant they weren’t pressing my mother or aunt for information instead.”
Worry wove through Ainsley’s words, and for good reason. They made Sheridan’s chest tighten too. He hadn’t been exactly surprised when Ainsley had told him back in May that the Scofields had tried to get information out of him. They were, after all, good businessmen. Just trying to know as much about their buyer as they could. It had been little more than amusing at the time.
It felt far more sinister now. Knowing what he did of them, he wouldn’t put them past extortion. “Well, that won’t do. We can’t have your family in any sort of danger just because you work for me. Did you check with your mother? Is she all right?”
“I wired her first thing this morning and had a reply this afternoon. She said some strange men have been around, here and there. One tried once, months ago, to get her to talk about you, but you know Mother—she isn’t one to ever have loose lips.”
Chuckling at the memories of the times he’d met Mrs. Ainsley—and their very opposite personalities—Sheridan let his head tilt back again. “Nothing for it, though. We have to keep your family safe. Maybe—what do you think? Move them to the castle until this all blows over?” They’d had a smashing good time at Christmas. Mrs. Ainsley had even said so.
“Generous of you, my lord, but what good would that do? Especially given that we’re here.”
“You have a point. If the Scofields are looking for people to pressure into spilling our secrets, the castle would be the first place they’d try. So then. Paris it is.”
“So then—what?” Ainsley shot up to a sitting position. “What does Paris have to do with anything?”
“Your mother said she wanted to go. See the Eiffel Tower. Don’t you remember? Part of that game Millicent had us playing on Christmas Eve, where we all had to name the place we’d most like to see. She said Paris. So, let’s send her and your aunt and that cousin who wasn’t a blighter to Paris until all this blows over.”
Ainsley blinked at him. But there was no lecture in this one, not that he could discern. Just surprise. “You would send my family to France for weeks or months?”
Thoughwhyhe was surprised, Sheridan couldn’t fathom. “Obviously. It’s yourmother. That’s sacred, you know. We’ll let a few rooms at that hotel we stayed at two Aprils ago. They’d like that, don’t you think? Close to all the attractions and museums. And I’m certain the manager will remember me. He’ll see they have a fine time. I can ask Abbie and Millicent to take care of it, give them something to do. They’ll be happy to make arrangements—we won’t mention why, though. No need to get them worried.”
Ainsley breathed a laugh. “I admit, I would feel better if they weren’t at home to be threatened. Thank you, my lord. I’ll wire her again tomorrow. Tell her to expect to hear from your sisters.”
“And I’ll compose a note to wire to Abbie and Millicent, whenever you go. Now—back to Miss Dawe.”
Ainsley groaned. “Must we? She was like a ghost all day today, barely present. I could practicallyseeher hurting, and I ... I don’t know how to mend it. And what’s worse, my cousin saw in a glance how I feel—he’ll try to leverage that. No doubt a note will arrive soon, saying if I want to keepherout of this business thenIhad better supply him with information.”
Sheridan stole another glance at Ainsley’s profile in the moonlight. “You care for her.”
Ainsley just sucked back in the breath he’d heaved out. “It doesn’t matter if I do. I thought I’d be a help to her the other night by coming out, but clearly I’ve made things worse. She won’t even look at me now. It’s as though my mere presence is a reminder of it all, and everything I say upsets her further.”
In the light of day, in a lighter way, discovering that prim and proper Ainsley was sweet on a girl would have deserved all sorts of poking and prodding and teasing. Perhaps a jest about how if he and Beth had six children, they’d certainly need a governess.
But now wasn’t the time for any of that. “Ains.” Sheridan leaned forward again. “Even if you have upset her ... sometimes weneedto be upset. Sometimes that’s the only thing that will convince us to let down our walls and allow someone in. Or even to turn to God.”
“And sometimes it builds the walls higher.”
“Yes, sometimes. But my valet—he’s rather wise when it comes to such things—would say that every time we make a mess of things, every time we take a wrong step, it’s just an opportunity for the Lord to meet us in an unexpected way. He would say that if you really care for her, and if she’s hurting, then the best thing you could possibly do is put her in God’s hands and just pray that He’ll give you the honor of being one of the people He uses to heal her.”
“I want to be. I always want to be one of the people He uses, but especially this time. I’m just afraid I’ve ruined it.”
Sheridan sighed. “I’m always afraid I’ve ruined it, every time I open my mouth. But God is bigger than our mistakes, I’m told. In fact, I’m fairly certain my wise valet would say that the best thing we can ever be is a willing instrument in His hand. That we ought to stop worrying that our every word is wrong and instead let the Master Craftsman wield us however He will. There may be stray chisel marks, the times we slip. But He’ll still set the stone where it belongs. We just need to remember our lives are a monument to Him, not to ourselves.”
Even in the darkness, Sheridan could see Ainsley narrow his eyes. “You really aren’t quite a heathen, for all your obsession with Druids.”
“I keep telling you that. It’s just that I don’t much care for the sanitized Christianity that society has embraced. They’ve tried too hard to make it civilized.”
Those eyes just narrowed more. “You’re not about to become a heretic instead of a heathen, are you?”
“On the contrary. They’re the heretics, not me—the people who try to make Christian history tidier than it is, I mean. Have you read all those stories of the martyrs? And the Old Testament! The Druids have nothing on Judeo-Christianity when it comes to mysticism and odd rituals.”
“Sheridan.”
“Well, think about it. How many times have you seen a lady blush and skip verses when she’s reading aloud from the Bible? It’s far too raw for Millicent in some places. Not ‘Christian’ enough—come now, even you have to admit that’s ironic.”
