Chapter 20

Beau resisted the urge to watch Madeline leave, focusing all his attention on his uninvited guest. Despite the fact Nelson Taylor was of average height and had the build of a gentleman, he bore the manners of a man who needed to prove his importance. Beau had been so blinded by his anger at Mr. Taylor’s slight toward Madeline near the rail platform, he had not noticed the man’s reddish-brown hair or his rather remarkable beard.

But there was something more today in the way he pulled back his shoulders, puffing up his chest like a pigeon prancing around a park bench. It was a sort of confidence that came from knowing you had the upper hand.

There was no doubt why. At the moment, he had Beau’s life in his hands. Taylor was coming to make a deal, and with terms so utterly in his favour, he could walk out of here a very rich man. Clearly Taylor knew who he was. But Beau had always found it useful to acknowledge any advantage that his opponents thought they had. If they thought they could use your shortcomings against you, they would. It was far better to own one’s harmless indiscretions rather than have them weaponized. Patricide was far more than harmless, but the principle still held, especially since Beau was innocent.

He decided the best defense was to deflect that pomposity with his own. Confidence was king when your neck was on the line—in business anyway. Frank had taught him that, and it had been a good lesson.

His uninvited guest had been pawing at Madeline’s books, helping himself to one of the volumes. Taylor slid the book back on a nearby shelf as Beau held out his hand.

“Beau da Silva.” Beau introduced himself with the same ease he used in all his business dealings, a signal to Mr. Taylor that his being here did not rattle him in the slightest. “And you are Mr. Nelson Taylor.”

His opponent nodded curtly. “I represent George’s College.”

They shook hands, then Beau gestured for them to sit.

“This is quite an eclectic little library you have here,” Taylor said, gesturing to the shelves that housed Madeline’s books. “I didn’t know you were a rosarian.”

“I spent some time in Boston with the Gardners,” Beau replied. “They have a remarkable garden built right into the courtyard of the house. I was hooked.”

The story was partially true. He had been to dinner parties in Boston several times at the Gardners. He’d made the connection through Hugh Evans, whom he’d saved from drowning.

Taylor appraised Beau carefully. There were far too many unspoken questions in the air.

“I take it you are here to discuss the offer for the property?” Beau asked, eager to get this man out of his house as soon as he could with as little damage as possible.

“Yes indeed,” he said. “I just paid a visit to the Chandler farm, and decided to take the opportunity to call on you personally.”

“Let’s get to it then,” Beau said. “My housekeeper has provided tea, but if we are going to get into the business of negotiations, then perhaps something more bracing is required.”

Mr. Taylor waved off Beau’s offer. “My client has been anxious about the sale. They are eager to acquire the property, so they can proceed with their plans.”

“And what would those plans be?” Beau asked.

His question seemed to take the man off guard. What the buyer of a property wanted to do with it was not really his business. When Beau had originally decided to sell, he hadn’t given much thought to it. Of course, that was then. Before he’d found he enjoyed reading in the chair near the window in this parlour, or taking his breakfast with Maddie in the dining room, which had lovely sun in the morning. Before he’d found his grandparent’s recipe book and fixed up the pergola with his half-brother.

Before he met his father.

And most definitely before he’d discovered the garden and made love to the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

“To build a new school of course,” Taylor replied. “The plans are quite remarkable. There will be enough room for two hundred students, all from the most desirable families across the northeastern United States as well as the local area. An oasis where young minds can be encouraged.”

Soon Taylor was rambling on about a chapel, a gymnasium, school rooms, a library. Stables for horses. Lodging for students, faculty, and the small army of staff required to run it.

“They, of course, will be lodged on an adjacent property,” Berwick continued.

“Adjacent?” Beau replied. “Do you mean the Chandler property?”

Mr. Taylor nodded. “We have made them an offer as well. Contingent of course on the sale of this one. It would have no value to us without this one as well. They have been resistant to the idea. But I’m certain once you and I come to an arrangement, they can be made to see reason.”

Beau’s gut tightened. This was the matter Taylor had pressed Daniel about. Despite Daniel’s non-committal tone, perhaps the Chandlers were interested, if the money was good enough. Daniel had a daughter living in Avonford, a small town on the Bay of Fundy a few hours away. Hollis had just come from visiting her.

But he’d heard Daniel talk about the plans they had for the farm. How he hoped to give it to Teddy one day. If Beau sold the property, the Chandlers would have to move.

He’d just lost the man he’d thought was his father.

He could lose the man who was.

Beau took a moment to gather his thoughts. Used well, silence was a powerful tool. Instead of filling the air with mindless conversation, Beau took his time, spooning a bit of sugar into the tea Madeline had poured out for him. He stirred the liquid, watching the sugar disappear, then picked up the delicate porcelain cup he and Madeline had found packed away in a crate. All the while, he felt Nelson’s stare boring into him.

“I’ve been rethinking the offer,” Beau said. “Now that I’ve arrived, I’ve become quite taken with the property.”

“I didn’t think a man of your reputation would be interested in an old house and a barn,” Taylor replied, his voice edged with forced nonchalance. “Unless, I suppose, he needed a place to hide from the law.”

Beau laughed. He couldn’t help it. The moment Taylor had shown up at his door, Beau had known. It was out now, and Taylor had shown his cards.

“An innocent man doesn’t need to hide from the law,” Beau said, taking a sip of tea. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? You should know that. Unless, of course, you are more interested in keeping the guilty out of prison.”

Taylor narrowed his eyes and idly stroked his beard. “If you’re not hiding, why are you here? No one’s lived in this house for at least twenty years. And you hardly look like the sentimental sort.”

Once upon a time, Beau would have agreed with him. He hadn’t been particularly sentimental. Frank had only been interested in what he could earn.

“I was already making plans to visit and conduct an informal survey of the property when this business happened,” he said. “If I were guilty, do you think I would come here, of all places, when I could find a lovely little apartment in Rome and live out my days unbothered by the cold or a court in New Brunswick?”

Beau watched Taylor study him, trying to pick apart the truth. Beau had to believe this statement to the core of his soul to be convincing. And he could only hope that the heavily coded message he’d sent back to the detective might help the case get solved.

“In fact,” he continued, putting on his best smile, “we recently were informed of a very promising break in the case. I expect to be back in the boardroom at Silver Lumber in a fortnight. At the head of that boardroom table, I might add.”

He put down the cup and leaned in, as if inviting Taylor in on a secret.

“Please tell me that a man of your intellect would not be so eager to collect a mere two hundred dollars,” he said deliberately, choosing each word carefully, “only to lose out on the potential of future business with Silver Lumber or any of our customers across New England. Contacts who might be eager to send their sons to George’s College.”

Nelson stilled, the implications of Beau’s threats landing on his shoulders. It was a hollow threat, though Taylor couldn’t know that. Without any word from Dominic, Beau’s future was still very much in jeopardy. But the last person Beau would ever do business with was a man who’d treated someone he thought beneath him so abominably. Especially if that person was Madeline Murray.

“What kind of business?” Taylor asked, once he’d recovered himself. As Beau suspected, the man was driven by a familiar principle: greed.

“Once the charges have been cleared, we can discuss it,” Beau replied. “Do we have an agreement?”

Beau could tell the man was wavering. Besides whatever fee he was charging the school trustees, Taylor would no doubt earn an extra fee if he sealed the deal. He had to be as invested in Beau’s innocence as Beau himself.

“I will consider it,” Taylor said at last, getting to his feet and leaving his business card. “In case you need someone to keep you out of prison and in the board room of your company.”

From the room across the hall, Maddy peeked from behind a lace curtain, watching Nelson hop into his gig and drive away. The rain had already start to let up, but her insides were roiling. She stood motionless, watching the horses, not daring to look away until they were out of sight.

“He’s gone,” Beau said, leaning against the sturdy wooden door frame, projecting an effortless sort of calm that Maddy wished she could bottle for herself.

“How can you be so calm?” she asked. “He could turn you in in a heartbeat if you don’t give him what he wants. You’re still a wanted man.”

“Only by you I hope,” he said, his lips turning up in a sly smile. “You’ve quite ruined me for anyone else.”

“This isn’t funny,” she said, pushing aside his compliment, knowing full well it was an attempt to soothe her. Instead, she found herself only becoming more agitated.

“I’m not trying to be.” He pushed himself off the door, walking into the room, the nonchalance gone, replaced with an unbreakable sense of confidence. “He’s not a threat to me.”

“How can you be so certain?” Maddy crossed her arms and turned toward the window, watching the gig until it disappeared. “He just tried to blackmail you.”

“And I turned the tables,” he said. “Nelson Taylor is many things, and greedy is one of them. Silver Lumber is a big company. We control a lot of the markets and have access to many of the same people that George’s College wants to use to populate that school. If he turns me in, I will simply reach out to my contacts and tell them to stay away.”

“They don’t have to listen to you if you’re swinging from a rope,” she said.

“Why do you always expect the worst to happen?”

“Because the worst happened to me,” she snapped. “And that man was right in the middle of it.”

Beau crossed the room in three strides, standing in front of her, brushing away a stray lock of her hair. She fought the urge to sink into him and allow his strength to support her.

“It happened to you,” he said, his mouth crinkling into a soft smile that made her feel safe. “You’ve been through some truly horrible things, and you are still here. You’ve shown me over and over just how strong you are.”

“What if I don’t want to be strong anymore?” she said, cursing herself for the unwanted hitch in her voice. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she blinked, desperate to keep them at bay. “What if I want to just want to sink in a chair with a book and not worry who might be coming to the door, or what they say about us in the papers? What if I just want to work in the garden, and go for long walks, and just live without having to worry about everyone else?”

Maddy turned away, fighting to keep her emotions from spilling over.

“Madeline,” he began, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to be strong for me. I don’t deserve it.”

Maddy warred with herself, wanting his touch and yet hating herself for desiring it. If only her fellow spinsters could see her now—completely undone by a man.

“That is why I am here,” she said, unable to look at him, even as she found comfort in his presence. Comfort she didn’t deserve. “Or have you forgotten?” Because only an hour ago, she certainly had.

A second knock at the door interrupted them. Maddy jumped, then realized it was coming from downstairs.

“It’s the kitchen door,” she said, pushing past Beau, just in case Nelson had returned. This time, she had her knife safely in place.

Maddy took a deep breath then flung open the door. Teddy Chandler stood on the step, wearing a toothy grin.

“Good afternoon Master Chandler,” Beau said, standing beside Maddy. He spoke with that effortless charm of his, as if he and Maddy hadn’t just been bickering about blackmail and his safety. “How can I help you?”

“Mom and Dad wanted to invite you to supper tomorrow,” he said. “You too, Miss Murray.”

Maddy noticed that Teddy was looking up at Beau with undisguised curiosity. She wondered if Hollis had spoken with the family about this prodigal son.

“We’d love to,” Beau replied. His voice was even, but there was something there—trepidation perhaps—in his very short answer. More so, amazingly enough, than when Nelson Taylor had been sitting in their parlour only a few moments earlier.

Beau’s parlour, Maddy silently corrected herself.

They invited Teddy in for a few cookies, but the boy politely declined. He kept looking at Beau, and Maddy was confident his parents had made Teddy aware of this long-lost connection. He spilled out the essential details, such as the time they were expected, most importantly that his mother was making a cake, before running off back toward home.

“Well,” Beau said, raking his fingers through his hair. “We’ve just been invited to a family dinner.”

Maddy rose early. Birdsong peppered the early morning stillness, a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of thoughts running through her head. She’d spent half the night staring at her bedroom door, lit by a generous moon, wondering if Beau was awake. Her body, traitorous thing that it was, craved his touch. Even worse, her heart craved his boundless confidence that Nelson posed no threat.

After a simple breakfast of boiled eggs, toasted bread, and strawberry jam, she spent time in the kitchen garden. She’d wanted to harvest some raspberries, but would not allow Beau or the house out of her sight. For his part, Beau continued to work on the pergola, brushing the first of several coats of linseed oil on the wood to help preserve it. While Beau was confident Nelson would not return, she was not so certain. Occasionally she paused from her gardening to walk around the house, carefully surveying the meandering path that would bring any visitors to the property.

Still, the day passed fruitfully enough, and by mid-afternoon, Maddy and Beau stopped their labours to prepare for dinner. After she put her tools away, Maddy refreshed herself with a cool hand bath and dressed for dinner. She hadn’t packed anything remotely appropriate for the occasion. Her fellow spinsters, however, most definitely had. There, at the bottom of her trunk, was a lovely pink skirt she’d worn once before, as part of an ensemble Rimple had made for her for a job she and Elouise had done at Government House last year. Maddy smiled in spite of herself. No doubt Elouise and Rimple were responsible for putting it there. While the evening bodice she’d originally worn it with was far too fancy for their surroundings, pairing the corded silk skirt with a fresh white blouse would be just the thing. She took time to brush the dirt from her boots and make them somewhat presentable, especially when the dinner was meant, no doubt, to welcome Beau to the family.

A small clock in the dining room chimed the hour, signalling the time to depart. Maddy stopped in the hall and gave her hair a cursory glance. She’d sat in front of one looking glass or another while her mother stood over her shoulder, dishing out her endless criticisms while a hapless maid tried to contain Maddy’s wild hair or fade her freckles with some homemade concoction. Mirrors had become a reminder of her shortcomings, and she’d come to dislike them. There was always an improvement to be made. Fixed, as if she were broken. Even at Everwell, she had to endure Elouise’s well-meaning sessions in front of a mirror. And while Lou loved Maddy’s wild hair to the point of envy and delighted in her freckles, it was exhausting.

So when Beau stopped beside her while she was attempting to shove a hairpin back into place, his question took her aback.

“Am I allowed to tell you you’re beautiful?” Beau asked.

Maddy grimaced. While they had both enjoyed the lovemaking in the garden, Maddy could not just rid herself of the lingering distrust that came with the compliment. Beau seemed to genuinely admire her. Why was it so hard to accept? She knew he was not Malcolm Ferguson. Malcolm had had the veneer of charm, but it had been stretched over a littleness of character that could not stand even the smallest test.

A fresh wave of guilt—that same guilt she’d carried with her for nearly two decades—landed on her shoulders like a lead cloak. Yes, she hadn’t intended to hurt Malcolm, even though he had every intention of hurting her. But it did not change the fact that a man was dead, and even if she had fought to protect herself, she was partially responsible.

The story in the society pages of the Halifax Chronicle haunted her. Last fall, during the Red Coat Job, Gemma had heard rumours through a member of the New Women’s League that Everwell not only housed women of questionable character and possibly thieves, but something even more dark… a murderess. Gemma had told the story over tea laced with a generous helping of whisky after it had all concluded. While most of her fellow spinsters had laughed off the accusation as something so ridiculous it belonged in the bin, Maddy—who was not given to drink of any kind—swallowed her tea in a single gulp. Only Phillipa Hartley knew her entire story, which meant Lady Em and Tilda did, too. How the whisper of that dark chapter in her life had followed her here, she did not know.

And yet Beau wanted to know if he could tell her she was beautiful.

“I don’t know,” she replied at last.

“Would you deny that the sun rises in the morning?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she replied. “That’s a fact.”

“So is your beauty,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “You are beautiful,” she said, turning to face him. “And that is a fact.”

“Why is it I am beautiful—thank you—and you are not?”

“Because look at you!” she said. “Your face could be put in a dictionary beside the very term. It’s what Rimple would call an ‘objective truth.’”

He cocked an eyebrow, not bothering to disguise his disbelief. “So what you are telling me is that your opinions matter, and mine do not.”

“That’s not what I am saying,” she said. “You have not had a lifetime of people trying to improve you.”

“That’s a rather remarkable conclusion to have.” An unmistakable edge dampened his usual lightness. “How well do you know me?”

She blinked, taken aback by his question. “I?—”

“I spent a lifetime with a man who tried to turn me into a version of himself,” he said. “And I suppose he partially succeeded.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she conceded. “Because you seem like a perfectly fine man. A very good one, in fact.”

He’d called himself selfish on more than one occasion, but the longer she spent with him, the harder it was to believe. He treated the Chandlers with respect. He treated her with respect. And after she was able to move past the fear of encountering Nelson Taylor on the street, the fact that Beau was willing to defend her honour so easily was something she would not forget.

Beau da Silva was a good man in a world where it seemed hard to be a good man and be celebrated for it.

“I believe you are humbling me,” he said, his cheeks flushing from her compliment. “Mark that down in one of your books, Madeline. I can’t recall the last time that happened.”

“How about I let you tell me how beautiful I am,” she said. “Because perhaps I need to be a little less humble.”

He cocked an eyebrow, looking at her with the same eagerness she’d seen in tigers at feeding time at Down’s Zoological Gardens.

“Where do you want me to begin?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “At the top of your head, or the bottom of your feet?”