Broken Angel Page 5

  “Sir!” she called, hurrying forward and barely taking the time to gather up her skirts for the possibility of missing him yet again. The gentleman slowly turned, expression showing an emotion that Rachel could only label as… guilt? A little breathless as she reached the bottom step, Rachel moved toward him while voicing, “A pleasant surprise, I must say. How in the world did you know to find me here?” She found herself hoping the welcome in her tone would let him know that no offense was taken from his sudden departure from her company at their previous meeting.

  Any uncertainty was ushered away with a somewhat forced smile as he reached out to accept her offered hand, bending over it in a formal bow and meeting her green gaze. Hesitation shone clear in his brown eyes.

  “In actuality, I.…” Yet his voice faded as he straightened, sending a glance over his shoulder toward the door of her father’s study. When he focused once again on her face, the seriousness was plain. “Is there a place where we can speak more privately?”

  “Of course.” Rachel motioned further down the hall. “There are the back gardens to the left.”

  “Perfect.” The gentleman offered his arm, which she accepted. “My confession is liable to be… upsetting,” he finally admitted.

  Rachel examined his expression, unable to restrain the detachment that always came when an outcome was unknown. “I see.”

  “In fact, I have but just come from a meeting with your father regarding that very subject.”

  “You–” She halted, retrieving her hand from his arm as she faced him, the suspicion flaring. Rachel, do not judge prematurely, nor place upon him any offense he might have unknowingly committed, she warned. Gathering her control tighter, Rachel calmly asked, “Why?” while preparing herself for the answer.

  Looking once more to the study door behind him, he motioned ahead toward the main hall. Rachel inclined her head. “When you identified yourself as Rachel Samson.…” he began.

  “You must have more than a passing familiarity with my family and its businesses,” Rachel supposed as she watched his profile. His hesitation to continue the confession struck another thought as well. “Then your reaction aboard the train was due to the fact you knew of the betrothal.”

  The gentleman halted, his jaw clenching before he shifted his focus to her face. “How much did he tell you?”

  Her chin tilted. “That he has had me promised to a man I’ve never met. To the ‘son of a friend’.” Keeping firm control of her tone, she held his gaze. “You knew and yet did not tell me. Why?”

  The gentleman moved his focus to the intersection between the main and back halls that led to the gardens. “I was afraid. How did I go about the duty without hurting you? I still don’t know.”

  The tension around them heightened, Rachel could plainly sense it, and caused the gentleman to fist his hands at his sides. Rachel, he was not at fault, she told herself. He should be allowed further explanation. Especially since he presented, again, an extreme regard for her feelings in the matter. Motioning toward the garden, the gentleman followed after a moment’s hesitation. She descended the marble steps, moving to stand near a three-foot marble bench situated under a large oak tree. Rachel did her best to loosen her stiff form, knowing it clearly showed her agitation. Yet the hurt at her father’s manipulation would not be ignored, nor would it be completely ushered aside.

  “I made a final decision only this morning,” the gentleman confessed, standing beside her.

  Rachel could only remain silent and distant, unable to voice any type of assurance that she didn’t hold him to blame for his choice. How would she have confessed the same knowledge if their roles had been reversed? You should not allow the silence to fester, she admonished.

  “Should it make a difference for you and your future,” he said before she could speak, “I asked his permission to court.”

  Her gaze swiftly met his. “You what?”

  The gentleman softly cleared his throat, uncertainty again noted in his expressive brown eyes. “Miss Samson, my decision to remain silent is a regretted one, to be sure, and I had hoped to persuade your father to… to allow you this choice.”

  “A choice? For what? For a normal courtship when this… this other has been deemed suitable to sire the Samson grandchildren? For persuading me to fall in love with a stranger so that he might gain monetary stability for our future generations?” Rachel scoffed and faced forward.

  “Miss Samson….” He released a deep breath. “Miss Samson, what type of gentleman would I be if I had not attempted some course of action?”

  Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, Rachel admitted, “I appreciate the thought, sir, much as my attitude doesn’t show it, but….” She faced him again, knowing that her calm was almost chilled. “If I don’t follow through with this betrothal, he threatens to write me out of his inheritance. One that I’ve trained and studied these eight years to have. This result leaves me with no place to stand against him.”

  Clenching his jaw, the gentleman seemed to flinch in body as well as expression as he held her gaze. “Miss Samson….”

  But there were no words he could have said that would alleviate the damage done. Rachel had finally come to see that her life was not truly her own.

  “Miss Samson,” he attempted again, “the protection of your future must have been his intention.”

  “Whatever the goal,” she informed, tone cool as she looked away, “the choice that should have been mine has been stolen, thwarting my training for independence. Henceforth, this man will stand as a living ridicule to my hard work.”

  The gentleman ran a hand through his hair, releasing another deep breath as he whispered, “It can’t be,” while turning away from her.

  Shaking his head, he moved to sit upon the marble bench near the oak tree. Rachel followed, lowering herself beside him as he stared somewhat blankly at the ground, his arms resting lightly upon his legs. His reaction intrigued her, for he didn’t know so much about her or her character that the knowledge of this betrothal would cause him to be so troubled.

  “Sir, why does this decision cause a reaction such as a proposal of courtship to a stranger?” When he didn’t look up nor seem to intend a response, she pressed the point. “Where is the benefit to you in taking on my father’s wrath? The Samson estate and holdings are vast, yes, but I may very well have lost the right to th–”

  “I did not propose courtship to gain your wealth, Miss Samson,” he finally said, his brown eyes more guarded when he met her gaze. “As I said before, you deserve this particular choice perhaps more than any other. This one decision affects not only your future, but that of the family you’re destined to have. There should be no manipulation involved. No ulterior motive that taints such a beautiful thing as ‘family’.”

  Rachel blinked at him, the totality of his answer impressing her even more of his true character. Then, when held against his responses of honor and responsibility on the train…. “My conscience refuses me your company. I’ve taken liberties and do not deserve your attention.”

  A decision made, Rachel pulled her embroidered kerchief from the wrist of her sleeve and presented it to him. “Sir, whether or not my father approves, your attentions are accepted.”

  The gentleman lowered his gaze to the kerchief, saying nothing.

  “I won’t accept this betrothal,” she intoned firmly. “I know nothing of this other man–his passions and politics; his persona or trustworthiness. How can I ally myself with a stranger whom my father deems worthy when I haven’t been given the opportunity to have that worthiness exhibited?”

  “I–” The gentleman didn’t lift his focus from the kerchief, his hand still not accepting the soft material. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Are you certain? I offered, yes, but.… Miss Samson, I don’t wish you to feel obligated to accept. It should not simply be the lesser painful option.”

  “It is the lesser painful option, for what I’ve come to know of you invited… trust.”
Rachel reached out to take his hand and tuck the kerchief within the warm grasp. The gentleman blinked and stared down at the dainty cloth. “Even now you display more strength of character than my father, both in your initial offering and in your hesitation to accept. Therefore, if my father has determined that I should marry, then I shall choose the man to whom I will give my affections and my position. That choice is you.”

  “Miss Samson, I only offer–”

  “You offer courtship, yes,” Rachel interrupted, “yet all I have to offer is engagement– No. All that is available to me is a classification of ‘betrothal’. To save my independence and my own self-respect.”

  The gentleman regarded her for a long and silent collection of moments until, finally, his lips tilted upward in a lopsided and very boyish smile. “Again, Miss Samson,” he slipped the kerchief into the side pocket of his suit coat and presented a hand, “I hold you only to courtship at this point and time. Holding you to anything more when you’ve not had the appropriate time to gauge my person puts me into a classification I would rather not be. One that your father seems to be content to have to himself.”

  Firming her hold on his hand, she inclined her head. “Very well. Courtship then, though I doubt another shall be adequate to the task of ‘husband’.”

  “Even I may be found lacking and, with that said, I suppose I should introduce myself. No one else seems able to take up the duty.”

  Her lips lifted into a very slight expression of amusement. “I could title you ‘sir’ for the remainder of our acquaintance.”

  Chuckling, he gave her hand a single, firm yet gentle grip before releasing it. “While ‘sir’ is charming in its own way, the name is Robert Leonard Trent, of Virginia. But please, call me ‘Rob’ or ‘Robert’. All my friends do so.”

  Rachel inclined her head. “You realize, of course, that in all proper form the title of ‘Robert’ shouldn’t be spoken until much later?”

  “Yes, well, in addition to being arrogant, my father would feel obligated to tell you I’m also classified as a rogue. I almost never do that which is deemed ‘proper’. Instead, I show a definite tendency toward following my heart more than common sense. That has ushered me into trouble more times than Father would care to admit.”

  Rachel stood, and she studied him as he did the same. Then she motioned toward the house, Robert following beside her. “Very well. Robert, then. Yet only should you call me Rachel. Turn-about is fair play.”

  “Of course, as I lean toward doing my best to please the ladies…. Within reason, of course.”

  Rachel’s lips twitched slightly, amazing her at how easily the action came. When was the last time I enjoyed someone’s company to this extent? She couldn’t recall.

  The two ascended the stairs of the back porch. However, Robert halted her before entering the house, his hand gently enfolding her upper arm. “Miss Sa– Pardon me. Rachel.”

  She faced him, noticing a return of the uncertainty and caution she noted before. “Yes?”

  “Should your father restate his ultimatum.…” Robert released a slow breath. “Rachel, I only offered to court to save you the loss of a freedom I take very seriously. I have enough wealth to my name that I can support you with or without my father’s approval, or yours, should the end of our acquaintance result in marriage. However, it isn’t my intention to separate you from what is rightfully yours.”

  The reiteration of so many honorable characteristics intrigued Rachel to an even greater extent, especially after her life experiences to that point. “Thank you for that,” she told him, “yet my training has been in independence and aggression. To know myself, what I want, and then have the tenacity and courage to pursue it. So I will have this choice, even should that separate me from the legacy that was previously set aside.” She tilted her chin upward. “I shall make my own legacy.”

  Robert regarded her for a long moment, his expression still serious and deep in thought. Then the lines of his handsome face softened and the smile reappeared. He bowed with a regally stated, “Miss Samson. It is my honor to serve.”

  Curtsying low, Rachel restrained a sardonic smile. “Sir.”

  Robert held open the back entry door for her. “Did you have a pleasant morning, at least?”

  “Better than expected, with obvious exceptions.”

  Conceding the point with a slight incline of head, Robert fell into step beside her. “I truly am sorry that I didn’t finish the trip with you. As I said before, my conscience wouldn’t allow it until I had resolved what to do.”

  “While it tweaks my temper that you didn’t confess all at the moment I introduced myself, I suppose I can understand the reasons for it,” she confessed. “I once showed a tendency toward speaking too soon, often embarrassing myself with a showing of temper. I’ve since come to realize that waiting is often the best policy.” Too many years had it taken to learn that lesson.

  Robert chuckled. “I shall do my best to remember that as a warning. As well as the fact that your eyes sparkle when you’re preparing to lash.”

  A single eyebrow arched upward while she sent him a questioning glance.

  Again, Robert sounded his attractive baritone chuckle. “I apologize.”

  “For what, pray?”

  “For my forward behavior. I should wait until tomorrow, at least, to allow you time to recover from a less-than-wonderful journey and revelation. Especially when such resulted in two men being thrust upon you.”

  Amusement rose within. “Then I suppose it would be forward of me to admit that your quips are the help to recover?”

  Robert laughed outright, drawing yet another mild expression of entertainment. She halted when her father stepped from his office into the hall. The action was so swift that it caused Robert to touch her briefly on the back as he came to stand beside her.

  “Rachel, it’s time to speak of details regarding arrangements before this foolishness continues,” her father informed as he approached. His hard stare swept over them both.

  “ ‘Details’ of what, Father?” she asked coolly. “I have told you I will not marry this ‘son of a friend’. It matters little that you have us betrothed. You did not consult me; therefore, I do not recognize the contract.”

  “Whether you recognize the contract or not, Rachel, matters little. Understandings have been made. My friend has quite the fortune, as well as the business sense to hold and increase it. His son has that same tendency, though a bit more… unorthodox.” He cast Robert a dark glare. “And you, who were told not to involve yourself, interfere at the first opportunity–”

  “He did nothing, Father,” Rachel informed, “other than voice an acceptable offer of future attention. I’ve told you: I will not accept this previous arrangement. I know nothing of his character. You wouldn’t expect me to begin a business partnership on those grounds much less a marriage.”

  “Don’t take offense at the pairing. Both of you have been trained with what is required and beneficial for this life you’ve been born into. You’ve also proven yourselves bright and determined to follow through with whatever challenge has been placed in front of you. So, this future has been specifically tailored to that.”

  “I will not be controlled,” Rachel insisted firmly. “If that attitude is rewarded by striking me from your will, so be it. For what good was my training if you don’t trust it?”

  Henry roughly motioned to Robert. “So you choose him? This rogue with the sweet words and idiotic notions of chivalry?”

  From the corner of her focus, Rachel noticed Robert’s form stiffen. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “What I have discovered of Mr. Trent has invited trust, with these ‘idiotic notions’ a great motivator toward that end. I know nothing of this other and refuse to marry a man who doesn’t show resilience enough to stand against you. Mr. Trent, however, has shown courage and resolve to spare, and his attentions will remain acceptable–”

  “You know nothing about him!” Henry snapped. “For all you
know he could be using the situation to gain the upper-hand and forever have the ability to control you, your opinion, and your inheritance!”

  Robert took a menacing step forward, any further action once more halted by Rachel’s hand upon his arm and a cool voicing of “Robert,” as she focused briefly on his taut profile. She immediately focused on her father. “If the only course is researching his ethics, family background, and stability of wealth to prove he isn’t the conspirer you believe, so be it. I shall prove to you and justify to myself the truth of his qualifications as beau, suitor, and prospective husband for the end result of providing you your heir.” Rachel tilted her chin upward. “When I do, you will inform the other that he is not the intended for my hand.”

  Her father glowered down at her a moment before shifting his hard stare to Robert. “You will regret this decision, Trent.”

  “I will not regret the decision to be honorable.”

  Briefly clenching his jaw, Henry finally muttered, “Fine,” in a tightly controlled tone. “But you will be responsible for any and all correspondence to your original intended, as well as to the Board explaining this breach of contract: verbal or not. I hope they are as forgiving of your blatant rebellion as I am, for they don’t appreciate contracts being broken for the sake of pride.”

  Then he turned to stalk toward the front entry, slamming out of the house without coat or hat.

  “ ‘For the sake of pride’?” Rachel repeated. She sounded a slight scoff. “That was the pot calling the kettle ‘black’.”

  At Robert’s continued silence, Rachel shifted her focus to him. He had retrieved a pipe from somewhere on his person and now mercilessly bit down upon it while glowering at the front door.

  “I don’t understand why Father has taken an instant dislike to you,” Rachel admitted. “You have said you know him, and even now he mentioned that he had told you not to interfere. Had you confronted Father before I returned from Europe?”