Cleo? Your sisters and brothers?” His gaze narrowed. “Bess asks for you still. You remember her?”
Cleo’s throat tightened. She nodded. “Of course I remember her.”
“Because it’s been hard these last months. Little Bess is so frail.” He shrugged. “It’s been cold . . . and coal isn’t cheap.”
Her gloved fingers curled and uncurled in anger. He’d had more than enough money for coal . . . and food, and clothes. Cleo cursed herself. She should have known this would happen—that Roger would hoard the money for his own vices while her mother and siblings suffered.
She suddenly doubted whether her mother and the children saw a penny of it. Of course her mother wouldn’t have wanted to complain to Cleo. Her mother never complained. She just endured.
“I’m close to marrying.” She held up a hand in supplication. “I can give you money of my own then. You won’t have to go through Jack.”
He looked her over appraisingly. “Found yourself a ripe pigeon, have you? Are you certain he’ll give you free rein of his purse?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I’ll require a promise from you in exchange.”
A guarded look came over his face. “And what would that be?”
“I get the children. And Mama, too.”
He scratched his bristly jaw, obviously considering her words. “And what will I get?”
“Money. Freedom. You won’t have a brood of children beneath your feet. You can live the life of a gentleman . . . go off and spend your money however you please—“
“I can do that anyway—and keep my kin.”
“No. You can’t.” She sucked in a breath. “You won’t get a penny from me unless you agree to these terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “The boys. Adam and Conrad. They’re getting older. They can be useful—”
“I want them. All of them.”
“That’s going to cost you.”
Loathing curled in the pit of her belly. “What kind of man negotiates the sale of his children?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an entrepreneur.”
“I’ll pay whatever you ask. But I get all of them. Or I walk. That’s the arrangement.” She held her breath tight inside her chest, hoping he’d believe her bluff—that she’d walk away from her family. No matter the situation, she’d never do that—could never turn her back on them.
He studied her, clearly contemplating her offer, weighing if there was any disadvantage to him.
“Very well,” he finally relented. “You can have the children. They’re naught but trouble, anyway. But I keep your mother.”
A protest surged hotly to her lips. “No!” Her mother would not live much longer if she remained with him. Of this she was certain. “I’ll pay you.”
“You can’t pay me enough for her.” He thrust his face close. Spittle flew from his lips. “She’s my wife. I keep her.”
Gazing into his eyes, she knew he would never relent on this point. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Very well.”
He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad we had this talk.” Shivering in the morning chill, he flipped up the collar of his coat.
Glaring at him, she marveled that she could ever despise anyone so much.
Squinting out at the tree-shrouded horizon, he murmured mildly, “Best be quick and get yourself to the altar. Don’t know how long the little ones can fare without proper care. Life can be so . . . taxing.” He glanced back at her, an eyebrow winging high. “As you well know.”
With that parting comment ringing ominously in her ears, he drifted off down the path.
T he next afternoon Marguerite surprised Cleo with a visit. Even if Cleo hadn’t grown fond of her half sister in the last year, she would have been delighted to see her for the distraction alone. She’d suffered a restless night, her encounter with her stepfather replaying through her mind, filling her with a gnawing sense of urgency. She must do something and soon. She might not be able to save her mother, but she could still save the children.
Deciding an
Cleo’s throat tightened. She nodded. “Of course I remember her.”
“Because it’s been hard these last months. Little Bess is so frail.” He shrugged. “It’s been cold . . . and coal isn’t cheap.”
Her gloved fingers curled and uncurled in anger. He’d had more than enough money for coal . . . and food, and clothes. Cleo cursed herself. She should have known this would happen—that Roger would hoard the money for his own vices while her mother and siblings suffered.
She suddenly doubted whether her mother and the children saw a penny of it. Of course her mother wouldn’t have wanted to complain to Cleo. Her mother never complained. She just endured.
“I’m close to marrying.” She held up a hand in supplication. “I can give you money of my own then. You won’t have to go through Jack.”
He looked her over appraisingly. “Found yourself a ripe pigeon, have you? Are you certain he’ll give you free rein of his purse?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I’ll require a promise from you in exchange.”
A guarded look came over his face. “And what would that be?”
“I get the children. And Mama, too.”
He scratched his bristly jaw, obviously considering her words. “And what will I get?”
“Money. Freedom. You won’t have a brood of children beneath your feet. You can live the life of a gentleman . . . go off and spend your money however you please—“
“I can do that anyway—and keep my kin.”
“No. You can’t.” She sucked in a breath. “You won’t get a penny from me unless you agree to these terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “The boys. Adam and Conrad. They’re getting older. They can be useful—”
“I want them. All of them.”
“That’s going to cost you.”
Loathing curled in the pit of her belly. “What kind of man negotiates the sale of his children?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an entrepreneur.”
“I’ll pay whatever you ask. But I get all of them. Or I walk. That’s the arrangement.” She held her breath tight inside her chest, hoping he’d believe her bluff—that she’d walk away from her family. No matter the situation, she’d never do that—could never turn her back on them.
He studied her, clearly contemplating her offer, weighing if there was any disadvantage to him.
“Very well,” he finally relented. “You can have the children. They’re naught but trouble, anyway. But I keep your mother.”
A protest surged hotly to her lips. “No!” Her mother would not live much longer if she remained with him. Of this she was certain. “I’ll pay you.”
“You can’t pay me enough for her.” He thrust his face close. Spittle flew from his lips. “She’s my wife. I keep her.”
Gazing into his eyes, she knew he would never relent on this point. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Very well.”
He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad we had this talk.” Shivering in the morning chill, he flipped up the collar of his coat.
Glaring at him, she marveled that she could ever despise anyone so much.
Squinting out at the tree-shrouded horizon, he murmured mildly, “Best be quick and get yourself to the altar. Don’t know how long the little ones can fare without proper care. Life can be so . . . taxing.” He glanced back at her, an eyebrow winging high. “As you well know.”
With that parting comment ringing ominously in her ears, he drifted off down the path.
T he next afternoon Marguerite surprised Cleo with a visit. Even if Cleo hadn’t grown fond of her half sister in the last year, she would have been delighted to see her for the distraction alone. She’d suffered a restless night, her encounter with her stepfather replaying through her mind, filling her with a gnawing sense of urgency. She must do something and soon. She might not be able to save her mother, but she could still save the children.
Deciding an
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