Page 81 of Hearts of Briarwall

She resumed walking, and he stayed with her. She ran her hands along the tops of the fragrant stems. “I’d like to discuss the investment portion of my inheritance. I’ve another idea that I believe to be sound. I’ve all but made up my mind, but I’d like to include you in my decision, out of respect and because I know you to be discerning.”

He watched the ground as they walked, his shoulders taut with tension. “What is it?”

She stopped and faced him. “I wish to invest twenty thousand pounds in Spencer’s motor supply shops.”

He immediately stiffened, but before he could protest, she continued, keeping her voice as calm as she could. “I hope to specify that my investment go towardqualitycar parts and training so that they’re installedcorrectly. I want to have a hand in improving motorcar safety. In this way, perhaps more accidents can be prevented.” She watched him weigh her words a moment, then, encouraged, added, “I also want to give Spencer our family name as solid investors to add validity to his efforts.”

At that, his expression clouded. He turned away from her, his hand tapping against his leg. “I cannot allow you to do that,” he said.

She wanted to scoff and tell him he had no businessallowingher to do anything, but she’d learned that would do no good. “Which part can you not allow?” she asked. “Because, Andrew, I would like to be part of this venture. It is solid. Despite the pain of losing Mother and Father to an accident and your disdain for the entire automotive industry, I believe you see it as a good idea as well. You’ve spoken too highly of Spencer’s uncanny foresight and ingenuity. And you’ve taught me too well of business for me to allow this opportunity to pass by.”

“So, it’s my fault, then?”

Relieved to hear a fraction of humor in his tone, she shrugged. “Isn’t everything?”

He bit back a smile, and she counted it a triumph. But then he sobered.

“You may do as you see fit with your investment money, Lydia. But be careful about attaching our name to Spencer’s venture. It may not do the good you expect.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He dropped his head. “I was reminded recently that you are no longer a child.”

Her eyes widened. “By someone other than me?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she winked.

He took a breath. “And while that concept is one my stubborn mind is still grappling with, it is time you knew something I’ve sheltered you from. If you are to pursue this venture, then you must understand.”

A cold breeze touched her skin, and she shivered. “What is it?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was fighting a headache. Then he let it go and set his hands at his hips. “It is highly rumored, and entirely possible, that Father was largely at fault for the car accident.”

She stared at him.

He looked out over the lavender rows, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“But ... but they found the brake prematurely worn down,” she said. “It gave out entirely though the vehicle was fairly new. What could Father have done to prevent it?”

“Father was known for his reckless driving. Out of concern for us, his orphans, the locals kept things hushed during the inquiry. We owe the people of this town much.”

“Andrew,” she said, her composure fading. “What were they covering up? What did Father do?”

“Father’s vehicle was designed to go fifteen to twenty miles per hour at its top speed. The suspicion is that he took the car to the top of Box Hill so he could see how fast the thing could go when given a good enough pull of gravity. That hill has a nice long, steep stretch before the turn at the bluff. A car that heavy would reach beyond those speeds quickly without any brake applied.”

“But what would cause the brakes to give out if they were in perfect working order?” she asked, scrambling to make sense of this new information. “Surely Father would’ve applied the brake with enough distance before the bluff. Mama was with him, for heaven’s sake!”

Andrew rested his warm hands on her suddenly cold arms, and she welcomed the anchor. A brisk wind had picked up, and the sunlight dimmed. The air smelled of rain.

When he looked at her next, it was with compassion. “Father had made the run down that hill several times, had bragged about it at the club, before taking Mother.”

She swallowed hard. “Enough times to wear down the brake?”

He nodded, giving her arms a gentle squeeze.

Mama. Papa. The lump in her throat hardened. “Andrew,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears, “how could you bear it?”

He drew her to him, and for the second time in a week, she was in his embrace. She heard the spartan patter of scattered raindrops on the lavender bushes.

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