All About Seduction(2)

Mr. Broadhurst cleared his throat. “I am not getting any younger.”

“None of us are, sir,” said Caroline. But while she approached thirty, he was well over seventy now.

He sat again in his chair, his glass thumping on the heavy oak desktop. He fiddled with the drink for long seconds, sloshing the amber liquid back and forth. He raised the whiskey, took a sip, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Containing her wince, Caroline knew he had a handkerchief. Every morning before they left for the mill office she made certain he was properly pressed and dressed like a gentleman, with a fresh handkerchief tucked in his pocket.

“I need to make arrangements for the mill before I die.”

Caroline started to protest that day was surely far distant, but she knew it wasn’t. Her husband had outlived most of his contemporaries.

“I could run the mill well enough,” she said. Her husband did not have any relatives to leave his massive wealth, and he’d insisted she learn the operations years ago. She expected to run the mill. Why had he been training her, if not to take over?

Years ago he had caught her hiding a novel under the ledgers she was supposed to study. He’d sat her down and told her that she needed to learn the business so she could watch over it while their children grew old enough to take it over. He was not a young man. Feeling guilty for her rebellious attitude, Caroline had applied herself to learning.

“You are a woman,” he said. “And too softhearted to run a business for long.”

Caroline leaned forward on her chair. Not that she had any doubt of her abilities, but to placate her husband’s fears, she said, “I would hire a man to oversee the running of the mill, and I would just—”

Mr. Broadhurst held up his hand, stopping her. “That would be enough if you were holding it for a son. But what good is building the Broadhurst name if there is no one to carry on?”

She knew the operation inside and out, but the children hadn’t come. If she was not to run the mill, what was she to do—spend all her days idly reading or sewing or, God forbid, collecting birds and cats as if they could substitute for the children she should have produced? Her hands curled and she had to concentrate to stretch out her fingers.

No, the mill was to be hers. She hadn’t spent all these years docilely standing by him to be relegated to a cipher.

“I do not know what to say. I always wanted children. I would have given you a son if I could.” She clasped her hands tightly together to keep from twisting them. She would have been thrilled to give him a dozen children, boys, girls. Even one child to kiss good-night, to teach how to be a good and compassionate steward to the mill and its workers, and to give all the love she held in her heart, would have been a heaven sent miracle, but she had proved barren.

“I hope you mean that.” He looked at her so intently she felt bound to offer a solution.

“If you would like to adopt a boy, little Danny Carter is an orphan and he is very good at ciphering. I think his grandmother would be relieved to . . .

Mr. Broadhurst’s lowered brows over glaring eyes stopped her.

“We could raise him to take over the mill,” explained Caroline. Certainly it was not an ideal situation, but it was done. Flutters in her chest suggested a fairy bearing hope had spread excitement with a tiny wand. A child would give her a reason to want to get out of bed each morning.

“You are not suggesting naming a mill child as my son.” Mr. Broadhurst’s tone was derisive. “He would suffer the same exclusions from society that I do.”

With his innate intelligence and unflappable confidence, she thought he would have found acceptance if he had tried harder, but he had come to rely on her for smoothing the way with people—which was almost laughable, as she was the least sociable creature in the world.

“What does that matter?” The hope flitted away. She’d never understood why her husband so desperately desired the acceptance of society. He found little pleasure in their frivolous pursuits and had a bourgeois distaste for the lack of morality among the elite. They’d seemed ideally suited for each other in that respect.

“I married you to be sure that my children would be accepted everywhere. That my name would be welcomed in the highest of circles.”

Caroline lowered her head and gazed at her lap. The back of her throat grew dry. She swallowed several times, to no avail. She always knew her bloodline had been a commodity exchanged for money. Only she had failed to deliver her side of the bargain.