“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Return the medicine to my room and that will be all.”
“Very good, sir.” The salt-and-pepper-haired man turned with great formality, taking the bottle with him.
Once he was gone, James lifted the cup to his lips and took a long drink. The temperature was just perfect, and the medicine, although bitter, was tempered by the sugar Winchell had thoughtfully added.
In a few moments, James could feel his heart slow to a less frantic beat.
“You will make another trip there, Bert. You will convince her that she must come. Use whatever means necessary. In fact, tell her that I will donate to her favorite charity if she will but come visit me immediately.”
“That might convince her. What amount should I offer?”
“Something she’ll find impossible to refuse. Let’s say, ten thousand dollars. Get a bank draft for that amount to take with you. Pull it from my bank in Boston. If her heart is so pure and her desire truly to help those less prosperous, then she’ll be unable to refuse my request.”
The attorney smiled. “She’ll be able to help a great many people with that kind of money. Perhaps even build them a place to find shelter and care.”
“Whatever she decides is fine by me, so long as she comes to Minneapolis before the end of the month. Do you understand me?”
Black nodded. “I do, sir, and I will see to it that this happens.”
“Then go now. Take my private train car and convince my granddaughter to come.”
Once Black left the room, James took his tea and made his way to the sitting room, where the painting of his wife was displayed over the fireplace. A footman appeared almost the moment James sat down.
“Would you care for a fire, sir?”
“Yes. Make a big one. I intend to be here a while.” He finished his tea and placed the cup on the side table. “In fact, tell Mrs. Markle I will take my supper here.”
“Very good, sir.” The young man hurried to make the fire and waited just long enough for it to catch before leaving to relay the request.
James watched the dry logs begin to burn, and only once they were burning well did he lift his gaze to the portrait of his young wife, commissioned when she was just twenty-one and had given him a son. He remembered the delight he felt at the news. Every man needed an heir, and his son would fulfill that destiny. Or so he’d thought.
Now, however, he was once again in need of an heir, and the only one able to fill those shoes was a self-sufficient, stubborn woman who, from the sound of it, was more like her grandmother than she realized.
“Oh, Caroline,” he murmured, studying the painting. The woman who looked back at him was glowing in pride and accomplishment. She had told him she would bear him a son, and she did exactly that. Sadly, she was never able to bring another baby full term, but it hadn’t mattered at the time. James had been pleased with the boy who bore his name. For years he had taken instruction from his father, as well as correction. They had sent him to the best schools in Boston and kept him in the best company. Later, when he asked to go to Philadelphia for college, Caroline insisted they allow James Jr. to make his own choice.
What a mistake that had turned out to be.
And now James Sr. was forced to continue dealing with that mistake.
Heaving a sigh, he lowered his gaze to the fire. He could still see his wife’s tear-filled eyes as he announced they would no longer have anything to do with their only son. She had begged him to reconsider, but he had refused. No one acted in the way their son had done and got away with it. James Jr. had been willful and disrespectful. He had chosen a mate from an unworthy family, ruining all his father’s plans for the future.
The boy could have married anyone. He could have merged his line with royalty, but instead he chose a pauper’s daughter.
James Sr. looked back up at the painting and could almost swear the woman who stared back was judging him. All his life, he had been able to control people with exception to two—his wife and son. Now it appeared that his granddaughter would be number three.
Unless, of course, he could find her price.
Bert was delighted with his new assignment. Returning to spend time in the company of Ashton’s beautiful granddaughter was a delightful prospect. Having spent the last ten years working for the old man and enduring his tyrannical ways, Bert felt it was only fair that he have some kind of enjoyment at Ashton’s expense.
Judith Ashton was more than fair pay. He imagined the possibility of spending wonderful evenings together. He wouldn’t press too hard at first, but rather convince her to give him a chance to explain her grandfather. Perhaps he could take her to fine dinners or even the theater or a concert. She might feel it unnecessary, but Bert was sure he could find a way to convince her. Sometimes the only thing a woman desired was a little attention. Judith had been a widow for nearly seven years. And while she was older than he might have considered for a wife, she was still quite lovely.
There was also the matter of her bank account, which was even lovelier.
He rid himself of most of his clothes, then stretched out on top of his bed. The windows were open, and even though the air was a bit chilly, he enjoyed the feel against his skin.
“I must find a way to convince her to come,” he said to no one. “Then I need to convince her to be mine.”
