Chapter 25
“Rosalind?”
The door to the library creaked open, and Rosalind slammed the book she’d been holding shut, her heart hammering against her chest. Never mind that she wasn’t snooping on the bottom shelves any longer.
She’d stopped that ten minutes or so ago, about the time she guessed her father and Leeland might want a break from whatever they’d been discussing in his study for most of the morning.
But the copy of The Last of the Mohicans still felt like fire in her hands, and she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding against her ribs as Foster nudged the door open and poked his head inside the room.
“Ah, there you are. Your father needs you in his study.”
“He does? Are you sure?” Her heart hammered harder. What could he possibly need her for? Unless . . .
Her eyes drifted down to the three crates sitting on the floor, each one filled with books.
And each one concealing a set of ledgers at the very bottom.
“Are these crates ready for the library?” Foster asked, following her gaze. “I can have them loaded into the carriage if you’d like to drop them off after dinner.”
She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, they are. Please see that they’re loaded.”
“Very good, Miss Rosalind. I can take one of them now, unless you need me to escort you to your father’s study?” He headed toward where the crates sat beside the set of shelves she’d just finished sorting through.
“Oh, take it now, please. I can see myself to the study.”
Though she was nervous, there was something satisfying about watching Foster glance at the novels on the top of the crate, then pick up the whole thing and start for the door.
He wasn’t the least bit suspicious. No one likely would be.
All three sets of ledgers that she’d pulled from the hidden crevices on the bottom shelves had been dusty, indicating that once her father hid them, he was unlikely to go back to look at them again.
She followed Foster out the library door, then headed down the stairs behind him.
When he turned toward the kitchen, she went the opposite direction, not stopping until she stood in front of the study’s large wooden door.
She paused for a moment, sucking in a breath that would hopefully calm her nerves.
Three voices spoke from behind the door. Two she recognized as belonging to her father and Leeland, but the third voice was unfamiliar.
She knocked twice, then waited for her father to call for her before she entered. Her eyes immediately went to the stranger. He was seated in one of the chairs opposite her father’s desk, a ledger open across his knees and spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
Tall, wiry, and perhaps in his early fifties, he stood as she entered. “Ah, Miss Caldwell. It’s an honor. I’m Mr. Dunning, vice president of District National Bank in Washington, DC. I was just reviewing some of your investment summaries with your father.”
Washington, DC? The breath clogged in her lungs.
District National Bank? That was her bank, the one where she kept the money her mother had left her, but also where her father, her uncle, and the Alaska Commercial Company did most of their banking.
What was the vice president doing here? And had he just said he’d been reviewing her investments with her father?
Even though she was over eighteen and a legal adult woman?
She pressed her eyes shut for the briefest of moments. Please, God, don’t let him find a way to take my money from me.
“I’m sorry. Can you explain that again? I thought you said . . .” She twisted her hands in the folds of her skirt. “That is, I thought Mr. Holloway handled my accounts.”
And he never would have done something like this, at least not unless her father paid him an exorbitant amount of money—which he might well have done with Mr. Dunning sitting before her.
“Mr. Holloway is still your official solicitor, yes.” Mr. Dunning offered her a quick smile. “But we conduct periodic internal reviews, and your portfolio caught our attention. In a good way, I assure you. You’ve had quite remarkable growth these past several quarters.”
He flipped a page and adjusted his spectacles. “High-risk rail bonds, two early stage shipping ventures, and even a timber acquisition in the Yukon. Your account is one of the fastest growing at our bank.”
“Then why are you here? Does fast growth pose some sort of problem?” She shifted, her eyes flicking to her father.
He sat behind his desk, his face a mask that didn’t give away any emotion, let alone a clue as to what he might be thinking. He hadn’t said a single word yet either, but his fingers tapped on the polished surface of his desk.
“I’m here at the request of your father, of course.” Mr. Dunning’s eyebrows furrowed. “I come twice a year to review his accounts, but this time he asked me to bring the necessary documents to transfer your accounts to your future husband as well.”
That’s what had caused her father to get his hands on her banking information?
After how cautious she’d been to only communicate with her solicitor every few months so her father never thought it necessary to read the letters from the solicitor; after she’d been so careful to never mention the money her mother left her, agreeing to marry Leeland had caused her father to look at her Finnances?
“Wait. Did you just say you were going to transfer my money somewhere?” Her throat grew thick. What was Mr. Dunning talking about?
“I wasn’t aware you were investing at this scale, Rosalind.” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “Or with this degree of success. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She swallowed again, her mouth seemingly unable to be anything other than dry. “I didn’t think it mattered. Mother left the money to me, and I inherited it when I turned eighteen. I assumed that meant I could do with it as I please.”
“It meant you could leave it in a savings account where it would earn a modest income, not invest it.” Her father reached for his glass of bourbon and took a long sip. “You should have told me what you were doing.”
She clamped her mouth shut, not quite able to bring herself to agree with him. Perhaps she should have tried moving her money to a different bank sooner.
There was no saying that would have worked, though. Her father likely would have found out what she was trying to do, put a stop to it, and made her pay for her actions.
Father set his bourbon down with a dull thud. “I would have negotiated your marriage contract differently had I had all the information.”
Her marriage contract? What did that have to do with anything?
Leeland snorted from where he was sitting near the bookshelf. “Is that your way of saying you didn’t intend to give me thirty-five thousand dollars when you said you’d have Rosalind sign her accounts over to me?”
“Why would you tell Leeland he could have my money?” The words were out before she could think better of them.
She should probably be afraid to speak to her father in such a manner, but this was her money, which she’d saved and invested and grown.
She couldn’t just let Father hand it over to someone else without trying to advocate for herself.
“This is a normal aspect of any marriage.” Her father didn’t so much as flinch at her question.
“So you what? Asked the bank to prepare some type of contract that will give away everything I’ve earned?
” She knew she was being too bold, knew her father would probably punish her for her outburst later, but she still couldn’t seem to stop herself, not with so much at stake.
Her father didn’t think she was just going to hand over her money, did he?
Dear God, please give me strength, she prayed. Please help me not to be afraid and to stand up to what they’re doing.
“Your father’s simply being efficient.” Leeland leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “A woman’s Finnances naturally become the husband’s concern after marriage. Your father was being proactive by making sure the details were settled before we wed.”
Mr. Dunning cleared his throat and gestured toward the open folder on his lap.
“I assure you this is standard, Miss Caldwell. Upon marriage, assets can be legally consolidated. The contract we’ve put together ensures clear title and establishes Mr. Vandermeer as trustee in matters of long-term planning. ”
“Trustee?” She twisted her hands together. “I think you mean owner.”
Mr. Dunning shifted in his chair but didn’t deny it.
“I don’t understand.” She turned back to her father and Leeland. “Why this? Why now?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” The condescending smile that had been curled across Leeland’s lips since the beginning of this conversation dropped from his mouth. “This needs to be settled before I go.”
“I thought you said it won’t go into effect until we’re married.”
“We need time to organize the transfer of funds.” Leeland flung a hand toward Mr. Dunning. “I don’t use the same bank or the same solicitor as your family, so there is much to be done, and it’s not the sort of thing that should be rushed.”
“Leeland is correct.” Her father was back to tapping his fingers on the desk, his rhythm more impatient than before. “You’ll be married in under five months. There’s no harm in beginning the transition now.”
It felt as though the room was closing in on her, or maybe the whole world.
She wasn’t going to have a choice about signing the horrendous contract Mr. Dunning was holding.
Not given how her father’s eyes were growing narrower and narrower.
Not given the small muscle that was pulsing on the side of his jaw.
He was probably already thinking of ways to punish her for her obstinance as soon as Leeland left.
“Sign the contract.” Her father pointed at Mr. Dunning. “Now.”
She stared at her father, panic rising in her chest. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t sign away something she’d worked so hard for.
Here she’d been worried about what her father would do with her money if she left, but she hadn’t once considered what he might try to do with it when she married. How could she have been so foolish?
“Would you like to review the contract for yourself, Miss Caldwell? It outlines the asset transfer.” Mr. Dunning took one of the folders from his lap and stood, then removed a packet of papers and set them on her father’s desk.
He waited for her to approach before continuing.
“You’ll retain a personal allowance with minor discretionary access to the funds, but investment decisions and access to the whole of the account will fall to Mr. Vandermeer after the marriage. ”
“And the charitable donations?” she rasped. “Will those be allowed to continue after the wedding? The same amount each month to the same organizations?”
Mr. Dunning glanced at Leeland. “That will be up to your future—”
“Certainly not in their current state,” Leeland cut in.
“About that, Rosalind.” Her father pinched the bridge of his nose. “What were you thinking? Six thousand dollars a year in donations? This is the exact reason you shouldn’t be managing your accounts without oversight.”
She wanted to tell him that had he been overseeing things, he would have balked at her purchase of railroad stock and timber tracts, and the account would have grown only by about a quarter of its current rate. But she held her tongue.
“I might permit you to make a few small contributions each year, once I’ve had time to evaluate which of these institutions are reputable.” Leeland lumbered to his feet and approached the desk. “But five hundred dollars a month is excessive.”
“They’re orphanages and schools and relief programs for women without husbands.” She didn’t add that the women without husbands she supported were single because they’d been abused.
Leeland’s jaw hardened. “I won’t have my wife throwing money at street children for the sake of her conscience. We’ll make donations when they benefit our name, like your father has done with the new library.”
A scream built inside her chest, but she forced it down. She had to stay calm, had to keep thinking, had to make sure she understood as much as possible about this horrible contract—if for no other reason than knowing how to get out of it.
“What about if you die?” She slanted a glance at Leeland. Her fiancé was twenty-three years older than her. It was reasonable to think she’d outlive him. “Does the money revert to me then?”
“Your fiancé has grown children from his first wife,” her father answered. “They will naturally be entitled to their own share of Leeland’s assets, and control of his business will go to his oldest son. A dower arrangement has been laid out in the contract.”
“Wait. Are you saying that after Leeland dies, my mother’s money will go to his children?”
“You’ll get an annual salary of five thousand pounds,” Leeland snapped. “That’s plenty for you to live on.”
She was making that much off her investments right now, year over year, on top of her giving.
Mr. Dunning cleared his throat and tapped the top piece of paper.
“If it pleases you, Miss Caldwell, I can draft an additional clause specifying charitable intent, and you can initial it. Mr. Vandermeer will still have final approval of spending once the accounts are merged, but the clause will be on record.”
On record. It was a meaningless promise, one Leeland wouldn’t bother to honor.
“This doesn’t go into effect until we’re married, correct?” She studied the first page of the contract, slowly reading the clause at the top. Upon the union of Leeland Russell Vandermeer and Rosalind Marie Caldwell in holy matrimony . . .
“Yes.” Mr. Dunning gestured to the first line. “It takes effect on the day of your wedding.”
“I see. Thank you.” She drew in a breath.
She wasn’t going to get out of signing this contract, not with how all three men were watching her.
But there was still a chance it might never go into effect.
If things went her way. If Yuri helped her escape, and she managed to stay hidden.
If her father ended up in prison for his crimes.
Dear Father, please let Yuri’s plan work.
She uttered the prayer, then took the pen, blinked the burning away from her eyes, and signed.