Chapter Two

      Henry was their guardian? What could Jack have been thinking? Henry couldn’t raise a child on his own, let alone three of them.

      Or could he? Her brother-in-law had obviously thought so. Lavinia couldn’t deny that Henry was good with the children. It hadn’t taken long to see that they doted on him, and it was clear he loved them deeply in return.

      It appeared he had the means to provide for them—at least their basic needs anyhow. Although his frock coat, shirt and trousers appeared to be ready-made, his hat, overcoat and silk cravat were of the highest quality. His hotel in Marysville must be doing well, enabling him to hire a housekeeper, if he chose to.

      But the children deserved more than the simple life they’d been living. Her father could give them that. He was determined to do so, which spoke well of him. Alex, Marcie and Dot would live in a lovely home, go to the finest schools and have opportunities beyond their wildest dreams.

      Gaining the right to take them back with her might involve a legal challenge, but it wouldn’t be hard for a knowledgeable lawyer to overturn a will. Her father had waged far more difficult battles in the past and won.

      Lavinia took a seat on the bright red settee and arranged her skirts, giving her time to form a suitable response. Henry meant well and deserved respect. Perhaps she could convince him that she’d be a more fitting guardian. He might even welcome the opportunity to relinquish his obligation. No doubt, he hadn’t expected to assume the role when he’d agreed to be named. “I admire your willingness to see that the children are cared for, but surely you realize what kind of life they would have back home.”

      He gave a dry laugh. “Of course, I do. They would be taught to disparage people like their hardworking father, and I won’t have that. Jack might have fallen short of your father’s ideals, but he was a good man, and he was good to Pauline.”

      She ran a hand over the arm of the well-worn settee. Like most of the items in the house, it had seen better days. At least there was a piano. Pauline had loved to play. “He couldn’t give her what she would have had if she’d heeded Father’s counsel and remained back east.”

      “Jack couldn’t give her what she had as a girl, no, but he gave her what mattered most. She had a husband she adored and who loved her deeply, and they had three wonderful children. As I said earlier, Pauline was happy here. Anyone who knew her would tell you that.”

      Norma had said much the same. “Be that as it may, I’m sure you’d agree that the children deserve to have the best we can offer them.”

      Henry studied her for the longest time before taking a seat in the leather armchair to her left. He slipped a finger under the collar of his white dress shirt and tugged at it, loosening his cravat in the process. “I’ve worn one of these fancy things every day for the past five years, and I’m still not used to them. Some of society’s conventions sure can be restrictive.”

      His attempt to make a point wasn’t lost on her. Her father had worked hard and done well for himself. His position required him to adhere to social mores, but he didn’t consider them to be restrictive. Perhaps that’s because he was used to them. He’d dressed in fine clothes as far back as she could remember.

      “And yet you wear one,” Lavinia said.

      “I’ve made concessions. A businessman is expected to present a certain image. I’ve learned that first impressions are what matter most, so I invested in the trappings necessary to make a good one.”

      “Your hat, overcoat and cravat.” They did lend him an air of distinction. Of course, with his thick, wavy wheat-colored hair, bottomless-blue eyes and muscular build, he’d probably look good in grubby miner’s wear.

      Henry nodded. “Men give other men a quick once over, and then they look each other in the eye, so a nice hat, a silk cravat and a clean collar are what’s important. Once a man has formed his opinion, the rest doesn’t matter as much.”

      “So you’re saying my father looked down on Jack because he didn’t have those things?”

      “What do you think?”

      “I doubt they would have made much difference.” She mentally kicked herself. She’d just admitted that her father had disliked Jack on principle.

      “You see my point, then?”

      All too clearly. “Father had his reasons.” He’d shared them freely, loudly and often. She could hear him now, his booming voice filling his spacious study. Jack Hawthorn is nothing but a presumptuous smithy. Imagine a man like that asking my daughter for her hand in marriage when his are filthy. Has the interloper no sense of how things are done?

      “Such as?”

      What had they been talking about? Ah, yes. Her father’s reasons for rejecting Jack as a suitable suitor for Pauline. “Does it matter? Haven’t you formed an opinion of my father based on outward appearances, too? You don’t really know him or what kind of man he is.”

      “I know enough about him to do whatever it takes to keep the children here where they belong.”

      This conversation had dredged up things she’d rather not think about, gone places she didn’t want to go. She loved her father and wouldn’t allow anyone to speak ill of him, but his treatment of Pauline had left something to be desired. Taking another tack seemed the wisest choice.

      Lavinia grabbed a sofa pillow and toyed with the fringe. “We can discuss this after Christmas. You obviously love them and want them to be happy, as do I. For now, I’m here. I think we should strive to make the holiday season as pleasant as possible for them.” That would give her time to assess the situation, locate a lawyer and overcome this unexpected obstacle.

      He rubbed his chin, and in the quiet room she could hear the rasp of his thumb over the golden stubble dusting his jaw. “What did you have in mind?”

      “To begin with, Gladys and I have been working on a menu for our Thanksgiving dinner. It’s going to be quite a feast.”

      His former antagonism fled, replaced by genuine eagerness. “Really? What will you be serving?”

      “The traditional dishes—turkey with cranberry sauce, ham, roast beef, an assortment of vegetables, fresh bread and, of course, a chicken pie. It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without one, would it?”

      “That’s a lot of food for six people.”

      “It is, but I want the meal to be special.”

      “I’m sure it will be.” A wagon rumbled past out front, drawing his attention. He looked from the window to her. “That reminds me... I only have a satchel with me, but my trunks should arrive in the next day or two, so you can expect to see the freight wagon show up.”

      She blinked in disbelief. “You’re having them delivered here?”

      “Of course. This is where I live now.”

      Her surprise turned to shock. “You can’t. I mean, I know you have been, but you can’t continue to do so, not with me staying here. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, I’ve given Gladys the downstairs bedroom, and I’m staying in the spare one upstairs.”

      He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. His calm tone was at odds with his rigid posture. “Let me see if I have this straight. First, you announce that you intend to take the children back east, and now you’re saying I can’t even stay in my own brother’s house?”

      Put that way, she came off looking high-handed, which she wasn’t. At least, she hadn’t meant to be. “This isn’t how I intended for things to happen. If only the letter had