more dollars. He is everywhere one turns. But I don't want to hear about him. It will ruin my day."
He said the words with a wicked grin, and Emmaline couldn't help her answering chuckle—couldn't seem to manage a bit of offense. Somehow Andre Springfield had always been that way. He could say the most improper things and get away with it.
He glanced at the door. "Where is our tea?" he bellowed.
Just then the door opened, but it wasn't Collette who entered. A tall man with broad shoulders stood in the doorway. He had a full head of hair, graying at the temples. His skin was lightly tanned, as if he spent time in the sun. His eyes were dark and clear. He looked directly at Emmaline and after a long moment he smiled.
Emmaline couldn't move, her breath caught in her chest. Her mind spun and her heart leaped.
"Hello, Em. It's been a long time."
Chapter Five
The slamming door brought her head up from the ledger with a start, the pencil lead in her hand snapping on the page.
Sophie sat back in the desk chair, papers with numbers scrawled all over them spread out before her. She could see a long line of harsh sunlight trying to slice through the closed curtains of the bedroom.
Normally she would have been asleep at this hour. Her entourage still was. But worry over finances had kept her up most of the night. The thought of losing Swan's Grace left her reeling. But she had more immediate concerns just then. No matter how she worked the figures, she didn't have enough to get four adults through to May if she had to pay for their lodging—in Boston or Europe.
Of course, she had known that all along, but at two in the morning she had woken up with a flash of hope that if she redid the numbers, cutting back here, saving there, she'd have enough to get them through. The truth was as harsh as the morning sunlight.
To make matters worse, her father had made it clear that Deandra, Henry, and Margaret were not welcome at his new house, and Sophie wasn't about to leave her friends to fend for themselves. Which left staying at Swan's Grace as the
only
viable alternative until she could get her father to straighten things out. And he would, surely. Swan's Grace was hers.
In the meantime she had to find a way to maintain residence in her childhood home. Though how hard could it be? she reasoned. Grayson was an old friend. Besides, how much time did a lawyer spend at his residence? Didn't he have cases to try, judges to meet, clients to advise—all of which undoubtedly took place in courthouses and downtown offices?
She kicked herself for goading him yesterday. Not the best way to start ingratiating herself. But being around him made her uneasy, unbalanced, as if at any second he could tip her over.
Today, she promised herself, she would do better. She would be as sweet as pulled taffy, and he'd have little choice but to let them stay.
For a second she thought of the rumors Margaret had heard of his impending marriage. What if he had a wife waiting in the wings to move in before May? But she wrote that worry off. Grayson Hawthorne was not one to do anything quickly, much less marry that way. No doubt he'd make an official announcement, then have a long and very proper engagement. By then she'd have Swan's Grace back and the money to pay her bills.
As the sun burned brighter, Sophie felt a growing sense of relief. Things would work out. During the day Grayson wouldn't be around enough to care if they stayed at Swan's Grace. And at night he could easily stay at the Hotel Vendome. He had told her father himself that it wasn't a problem.
The sound of efficient footsteps clomping across the downstairs floor seemed to vibrate up through the walls. She grimaced at the thought that it might be Grayson, disproving the theory that he didn't spend much time there. But she dismissed the idea. Grayson Hawthorne did not clomp.
She glanced at the huge four-poster bed that had been her father's—though now Grayson was using it. His
He said the words with a wicked grin, and Emmaline couldn't help her answering chuckle—couldn't seem to manage a bit of offense. Somehow Andre Springfield had always been that way. He could say the most improper things and get away with it.
He glanced at the door. "Where is our tea?" he bellowed.
Just then the door opened, but it wasn't Collette who entered. A tall man with broad shoulders stood in the doorway. He had a full head of hair, graying at the temples. His skin was lightly tanned, as if he spent time in the sun. His eyes were dark and clear. He looked directly at Emmaline and after a long moment he smiled.
Emmaline couldn't move, her breath caught in her chest. Her mind spun and her heart leaped.
"Hello, Em. It's been a long time."
Chapter Five
The slamming door brought her head up from the ledger with a start, the pencil lead in her hand snapping on the page.
Sophie sat back in the desk chair, papers with numbers scrawled all over them spread out before her. She could see a long line of harsh sunlight trying to slice through the closed curtains of the bedroom.
Normally she would have been asleep at this hour. Her entourage still was. But worry over finances had kept her up most of the night. The thought of losing Swan's Grace left her reeling. But she had more immediate concerns just then. No matter how she worked the figures, she didn't have enough to get four adults through to May if she had to pay for their lodging—in Boston or Europe.
Of course, she had known that all along, but at two in the morning she had woken up with a flash of hope that if she redid the numbers, cutting back here, saving there, she'd have enough to get them through. The truth was as harsh as the morning sunlight.
To make matters worse, her father had made it clear that Deandra, Henry, and Margaret were not welcome at his new house, and Sophie wasn't about to leave her friends to fend for themselves. Which left staying at Swan's Grace as the
only
viable alternative until she could get her father to straighten things out. And he would, surely. Swan's Grace was hers.
In the meantime she had to find a way to maintain residence in her childhood home. Though how hard could it be? she reasoned. Grayson was an old friend. Besides, how much time did a lawyer spend at his residence? Didn't he have cases to try, judges to meet, clients to advise—all of which undoubtedly took place in courthouses and downtown offices?
She kicked herself for goading him yesterday. Not the best way to start ingratiating herself. But being around him made her uneasy, unbalanced, as if at any second he could tip her over.
Today, she promised herself, she would do better. She would be as sweet as pulled taffy, and he'd have little choice but to let them stay.
For a second she thought of the rumors Margaret had heard of his impending marriage. What if he had a wife waiting in the wings to move in before May? But she wrote that worry off. Grayson Hawthorne was not one to do anything quickly, much less marry that way. No doubt he'd make an official announcement, then have a long and very proper engagement. By then she'd have Swan's Grace back and the money to pay her bills.
As the sun burned brighter, Sophie felt a growing sense of relief. Things would work out. During the day Grayson wouldn't be around enough to care if they stayed at Swan's Grace. And at night he could easily stay at the Hotel Vendome. He had told her father himself that it wasn't a problem.
The sound of efficient footsteps clomping across the downstairs floor seemed to vibrate up through the walls. She grimaced at the thought that it might be Grayson, disproving the theory that he didn't spend much time there. But she dismissed the idea. Grayson Hawthorne did not clomp.
She glanced at the huge four-poster bed that had been her father's—though now Grayson was using it. His
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