Page 6 of The Secret Word
“Miss, you should be ashamed of yourself, leaving the library without me, and getting me into such trouble with the master. How could you?”
There was more, of course, but Mr. Satterthwaite cut them both off. “Silence,” he demanded. “You.” He glared at the butler. “Announce to Mr. Wright that Mr. Christopher Satterthwaite has escorted Miss Wright home, and requests a moment of his time.” He turned his attention to the maid. “Your presence is not required. You may be about your duties.”
His assumption of authority and his lordly air had the desired effect. The pair of them scurried back into the house, and Mr. Satterthwaite offered Clem his arm. “Shall we go and beard the lion, Miss Wright?”
Becky followed them into the house and quietly took a seat in the hall as the butler returned from Father’s study to say, “Mr. Wright will see you, sir.”
Though Father’s bellow made his true message clear. “I’ll see the scoundrel, but he’ll not get a penny from me.”
Nothing in Mr. Satterthwaite’s demeanor indicated he had heard Father’s insulting words. He accompanied Clem into Father’s study and bowed. “Sir, I bring you a letter from Mr. O’Hara, who explains the near disaster that befell Miss Wright.” He handed the letter to Father, who snatched it with a scowl for the bearer.
“And what is your part in this, young man?” he demanded. Evidence that Mr. Satterthwaite’s masquerade—if it was a masquerade—of aristocratichauteurhad worked. Had Father considered him to be of his own class or lower, he’d have addressed her rescuer as “boy.”
Showing no sign of discomfort or irritation, Mr. Satterthwaite merely replied, “I was fortunate to be in the right place to be of some small service to your daughter, Mr. Wright.”
Father broke the seal and read the letter, then turned on Clem. “You should have taken your maid with you to the outhouse, girl.”
“I daresay they would have taken the maid, too,” Mr. Satterthwaite told him. “They were very definitely after your daughter, and I saw at least eight of them in pursuit of Miss Wright. I doubt the maid plus the footman would have given them the least pause.”
Father grunted, nonplused by the intervention and unwilling to either acknowledge Mr. Satterthwaite’s point or disagree openly. “That bookseller should have guards on her back yard,” he said next. “You shall not shop there again unless you have just relieved yourself, Clementine. You will excuse my mentioning it, Satterthwaite. I’m a plain man, and I call a pot I piss in a piss pot.”
“As is your right, Mr. Wright,” Mr. Satterthwaite said, smoothly. “But not normally, I imagine, in front of a lady such as your daughter. It is your current emotional distress over her near escape from kidnapping or worse, I make no doubt.”
Another grunt from Father, and then the surprising words, “Sorry, Missie.” But it was all for Mr. Satterthwaite, not Clem, for he added, “My Clementineisa lady, Satterthwaite, and make no mistake. Thousands I’ve spent on governesses and tutors and dresses, and all for one purpose. And do you know what that purpose is?”
“Your daughter’s happiness in a marriage suited to her grace, her beauty, and her excellent character?” Mr. Satterthwaite asked.
The question being rhetorical, Father was taken aback to have it answered, but he rallied. “Find her attractive, do you? A Satterthwaite, you say. I used to know a Reginald Satterthwaite. Something of a ne’er-do-well. But out of the top drawer, there was no doubt of that.”
“I have the honor to tell you the gentleman was my papa, sir,” said Mr. Satterthwaite. Father missed the heavy ironic overtones in Mr. Satterthwaite’s voice. Clem doubted he saw any honor in his statement, and also sensed he would have preferred a less dignified term than “gentleman.”
“Old Reggie’s son? Is that right?” The gleam in Father’s eye was familiar to Clem, and her heart sank. He had a scheme, and given his plans for Clem, she could guess what it was. She would have to warn Mr. Satterthwaite to run. Not that he was objectionable to her from what she knew of him so far, but Clem would come into marriage with lead strings, every one of which would be designed to bind both her and her aristocratic husband to her father.
“Clementine,” said Father, “run along. Go wash and change. Rest, even. You have a ball this evening. Satterthwaite, can I offer you a brandy? Run along, Clementine, or do I have to take a switch to you?”
Chapter Three
Miss Wright reluctantlyleft, while Chris called on all his self-control to keep from finding the switch and using it on Wright. Coarse, arrogant, nasty old man. No wonder he had been a friend to Chris’s father, who was just such another one, though his coarseness was masked in the impeccable public behavior that was taught to gentlemen.
He could think of only one reason why Wright was being so affable, and he did not for a moment imagine it was to thank Chris for saving Miss Wright from certain kidnapping and probable rape and murder.
“Sir, just so it is clear, I am Reggie Satterthwaite’s son. Between them, he and my grandfather dissipated my patrimony before I was out of short dresses. As a marriage prospect for Miss Wright, I have nothing to recommend me but my blue blood.”
Wright’s eyebrows shot up, and he grunted a couple of times, then he finished pouring the brandy and handed one to Chris. “I appreciate plain speaking in a man, so I’ll give you the same in return. My Clem has nothing to recommend her to the likes of you except lots of money. She’s plain spoken and plain of feature. She is too independent and too stubborn. Her education was as much like a lady’s as money could make it, but to give you the truth without the bark on it, she somehow isn’t quite a lady, for all of that.”
“I do not find her plain, sir, and I appreciate her plain speaking. As to her independence, I appreciated that, too, Mr. Wright. When I met up with her, chased by kidnappers, she did not faint or dither, but picked up her skirts and ran in the direction I told her.”
Another grunt from Wright. “Not what a lady would have done,” he insisted. “All that money I’ve paid, and she still speaks her mind. Now that’s all well and good for us lesser folk. But not for a lady. Not at all. Not what I paid for. Here’s the point, lad. I can marry her to someone that’d dive into a midden for enough cash, and don’t I know it? Easy enough. But I’ve not met one to suit me, somehow.”
More to the point, Chris had received the impression they didn’t suit Miss Wright. Still, while that might the important factor to Miss Wright, and to Chris, clearly her father was not of the same view.
“None of them will turn my girl into a lady, see. And it’s a lady I need. My girl is straw. Highly polished, but still straw. I need someone who will spin her into gold. What do you say, Satterthwaite? Are you the man for the job?”
“To tutor her, sir?” Because he couldn’t mean what Chris wanted him to mean.
“Tutor her, yes. To start with. And when I see her shine, lad, to marry her.” His smile would have been envied by a crocodile. It said, as clearly as words, “do not buy a horse from this man.”
Before Chris could prevaricate, for he didn’t dare say yes and didn’t want to say no, Wright added. “Ifyou meet my other conditions. I’m being honest with you, Satterthwaite. I want an heir. My wife only gave me a daughter, so I need to marry her off to someone who can breed her and give my blood a future.”
