I rolled my hand through the air. “Yes, Mr. Caldwell, I know.”
Get to your point, I wanted to scream but didn’t. This day was awful enough without me alienating the few people left on my side.
“Well, Miss O’Flaherty, the thing is…Mr. Calvert isn’t bringing considerable wealth to your marriage.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“The Beaumont viscounty is quite depleted, both in land and in liquid assets, mainly due to some bad investments made by the Viscount’s late father. Mr. Calvert is actually in a very threadbare financial state.”
“How could that be?” I sputtered. I’d never seen Hugh lacking for money, ever, not when we were in Europe and not here in England. He’d always worn the most fashionable clothes and stayed in the most fashionable hotels, and never had he indicated that it was difficult for him to do so.
“Apparently, he has been sustained by loans from a relative.” Mr. Caldwell took a breath as the other lawyers shifted in their seats. “And we feel that you should know that the relative is Frederick Cunningham.”
It was as if the sound left the room, the sound and all the air and all the light, and for a moment there was nothing but a dull ringing and the knowledge that I’d been duped. Led. Manipulated.
Thoroughly and utterly fooled.
Mr. Caldwell kept talking. “It appears that Mr. Cunningham is a first cousin to Mr. Calvert, on his mother’s side. The age difference and Mr. Cunningham’s lack of title have meant that the two have never associated openly in the same social circles, but regardless, it’s been Mr. Cunningham keeping Mr. Calvert’s lifestyle in the manner in which he seems to have been accustomed.”
“No wonder Cunningham was so insistent that I marry Hugh,” I said, mostly to myself. Hugh had arrived only a couple of weeks before the board had laid down their edict, and at the time, I found his presence a happy coincidence. He kept me company, went to parties with me, played the part of a concerned friend, and now it was all too clear that he’d been courting me, hoping I’d choose him. And when that didn’t happen on its own, Cunningham stepped in and forced the choice upon me.
I turned to my lawyers, all of whom I trusted and all of whom had been indispensable through this crisis. “Does this change anything about my position in the company?” I asked bluntly. “Does this mean I can avoid marrying?”
“There is a clear conflict of interest here, but again, since the board would be acting purely of their own free will if they sold their shares—something they all have the freedom to do if they choose—there’s nothing legally reproachable here. Ethically, yes. But in a court of law…we would not be able to make a case.”
I stared down at my hands. “So the fact that this marriage directly benefits a member of the board is inconsequential?”
Their silence was sufficient.
I picked up my pen and unstoppered my inkwell. “Then I suppose I’m just as trapped as before.”
“With all due respect,” Mr. Caldwell said, “you still have the choice not to marry.”
“And then lose my company?”
“In a legal sense, you are already losing it.” Mr. Caldwell placed a large hand over the contract, preventing me from sliding it over to my side of the desk. “Please, Miss O’Flaherty. I’m saying this as an acquaintance who has the greatest respect and affection for you. There is so little to be gained from this match—there is a very real chance that you will be separated from your company and will not have any recourse anyway. Would it be so unthinkable to let the board sell their shares?”
“It would ruin the company,” I said flatly, pulling at the contract.
He let go, but his voice and posture remained impassioned. “And what then? With your land investments and other assets, we could make sure that you were comfortable the rest of your days, and then you would be free to marry whom you wanted.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Caldwell,” I said, irritated. Not irritated with him or his well-meant advice, but with everything else. This situation. This business climate. This country. ?
?But this company is mine. My father and I built it from nothing after we lost everything, and I will do whatever I have to do in order to keep it alive. Understood?”
I signed the contract, my signature dark and savage on the paper.
A knock at the door prevented the lawyers from answering. I rubbed my forehead. It was barely noon, and between Hugh and the contract, I was feeling quite done with the day. An unexpected visitor did not bode well.
My butler came to the office door. “A Miss van der Sant, madam.”
My eyebrows raised. Birgit van der Sant was the adolescent daughter of Martjin van der Sant, a man that O’Flaherty Shipping was in negotiations to partner with for business. She’d also caught the eye of the predatory Frederick Cunningham, who had a known proclivity for virgins.
Known by me, at least.
I shivered and pushed away the dark memories.
“Let her in, Mason,” I told my butler. “Show her into the parlor, and I’ll be in shortly.”
