The Gunslinger and the Heiress. Kathryn Albright
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to tell her. Then she grew irritated. She should have been informed. After all, she was in charge of the household staff. It was her job to do the hiring and discharging. Tan Ling had been with the Lansings for the past three years. What of the letters of recommendation the young woman would need to find new employment? Had Grandfather considered them? Besides, more than any paperwork, she would have liked to have said goodbye.
She looked over the expectant loyal faces of those before her. “Mr. Lansing has taken ill and will require special care. A nurse will be attending him over the next few weeks while he recovers.” If he recovers, she thought to herself, and then quickly pushed the traitorous idea from her mind. He had to get well. He just had to. “Please make her welcome when she arrives.”
A burning sensation threatened behind her eyes. “This illness will be especially hard on Grandfather. He’s...he’s weak on his right side and unable to get out of bed. I’m sure you know how independent he has been.”
Looks passed between the staff.
Hannah understood their trepidation. Dorian wasn’t known for his patience or temperate disposition when he was in good health. What would the household be like now?
“That is all. Except, Edward? A word, please.”
Hannah waited for the others to take their leave, and then turned to the butler. He had been a sailor on one of Grandfather’s ships before coming to work at the estate. He’d been with Grandfather the longest and was a man she knew would answer honestly.
“What happened with Tan Ling? Was there an infraction of the rules?”
“No, miss.”
“What, then?”
He paused, a discomfited look passing over his usually austere face.
“I have known you many years, Edward. Please, speak freely. I know you are cognizant of a great many things within the household and keep them to yourself.”
“Very well, then.” His brow furrowed as he chose his words. “I believe Mr. Lansing was concerned with conserving costs. The loss of his ships—”
Ships lost? She schooled her face to remain impassive. “Obviously it is worse than he confided to me.”
Edward exhaled, believing her ruse that she was in her grandfather’s confidence. “I believe so.”
* * *
For the next three days, Hannah studied the Lansing Enterprises ledgers until numbers and cargo listings were leaking from her ears. Foul weather had claimed two of their largest cargos, not to mention the two ships, sinking both to the bottom of the sea. They had but one ship left—an older one that was in dry dock for repairs.
No matter how hard she stared at the figures, she couldn’t come up with additional income. The majority of the balances had a minus before them. She longed to discuss it with Grandfather, but the doctor had said that any added stress might cause him to suffer a relapse. He was to be kept as calm as possible. She mustn’t burden him with business.
Shuffling through the layers of letters and bills, she categorized them from most pressing to least—the most being a legal document from San Diego regarding the shipment of furniture and supplies to the Hotel Del Coronado, an establishment that was to rival the Palace in San Francisco. Apparently upon hearing of the downed ships, the owners had sent an immediate claim demanding compensation. She frowned. How considerate of them when Grandfather’s health hung in the balance. Some things were more important than their gold-rimmed tea sets. She dropped the offending papers on the desk and then checked the time on the cabinet clock. Nearly noon. Perhaps his tray was ready. She rose to her feet and found Nina in the kitchen assembling Grandfather’s lunch. “I’ll take it to him,” she said, picking up the tray laden with warm, mashed apples and cinnamon, a thin slice of cheese and clam chowder soup. “I’d welcome a respite.”
“You’ll be sick yourself if you don’t rest a bit, Miss Lansing. You must take care. You can’t solve everything in a day as much as you try.”
“Thank you, Nina.” She scooted out of the room. Nina would talk forever if given the chance. Her conversation was at times comforting, but right now Hannah needed solutions, not chatter.
She climbed the stairs and entered Grandfather’s room. Upon seeing him sitting up in bed, surrounded by plumped pillows, she stopped short, nearly dropping the tray. “You’re sitting up!”
A gruff “Harrumph” punctuated the expectant pause following her words. He had no patience for people who stated the obvious. Quickly she handed the tray off to the nurse and hurried to his bedside.
“Are you well enough to do this?” she asked, worried that the strain might be more than he could handle.
He held his left hand out to her, and she moved to take it, letting him draw her to his side. She sat on the edge of the mattress and expelled a shaky breath. “You...you are stronger today?”
At his nod, she motioned to the nurse, who rose and stepped from the room. Hannah had made it a point to help Grandfather daily with his meals. So far, she’d managed to keep from pouring out her worries, but today would be doubly hard. The company lawyer had dropped by with a large packet, and the post had just arrived full of overdue bills.
She spread the linen napkin over his chest and scooped up a spoonful of soup. When she raised it to his lips, his gaze met hers.
“Whas wong?” he said, his words slurred.
Her smile was forced. “Hungry myself, that’s all.” She scooped up another spoonful, but he clamped his mouth shut.
“Whas wong?” he repeated and pointed to the lap of her skirt where she’d worried the fabric into a wrinkled mess.
She sighed. She’d never been able to get away with anything with him. He could read people—her especially. The talent had made him a keen businessman—that and his innate stubbornness. People didn’t call him Old Ironhead for no reason. He nearly always got his way. Perhaps it would be smarter to let him help her. Frustration at being kept in the dark would surely be worse than concocting a plan of action.
“I’ll tell you if you promise to eat.”
In answer, he opened his mouth, ready for another spoonful.
While he ate, she told him how she’d discovered the bills piling up. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ships? Perhaps I could have helped.”
Grandfather shook his head.
“But it affects me. It affects you and this entire household. You need to trust me with this.”
Rather than acknowledge her, he indicated he was ready for another spoonful of soup.
Pressing her lips together, she held back the retort that threatened and brought the soup to his mouth. “It appears Thomas’s company reimbursed for the first ship and cargo, but I couldn’t find any insurance paperwork on the second ship. Does he have that at his office?”
Grandfather shook his head slightly and glanced out the window. Ignoring her? Or considering what to answer? She wasn’t sure.
“Should I send a telegram to Stuart?”
It seemed the obvious solution to her. Stuart managed his own shipping business now, but having trained under Dorian, he still partnered with him on an occasional run. Grandfather furrowed his brows.
“What, then?”
He grabbed the paper and pen from his bedside table. Moving them to his lap, he proceeded to write, left-handed and awkward.
“See? You should have learned to sign. It would help now,” she said, teasing lightly while he scribbled. He grunted, apparently not flattered by her suggestion.
“Here. Let me take a look.” She picked up the note and deciphered his squiggly handwriting. “Accept Thomas’s offer?” Her gaze flew to his. “Marriage? You think the