Chapter 11
Waverly
Traeger Hall
Preston was indeed a most oppressive man. Aunt Cornelia had been right about that when she was alive, and though she now lay lifeless in the front parlor, Waverly was certain her aunt’s opinion had been the truth.
It was half past nine, and dinner had gone well enough, she supposed. Preston had done exactly as he’d said, moving into Traeger Hall as though Uncle Leopold himself had issued the invitation.
“Mr. Grossman picked a fine time to go out of town on business.” Preston dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to manage affairs without meeting with him to get the specifics of Leopold’s last will and testament.”
Waverly bit her tongue.
Preston prattled on. “But you mustn’t worry. I will handle everything.”
Oh, she wasn’t worried. Not about that at least.
Waverly refused to respond. Instead, she eyed their used dinner plate settings still on the table.
There was no one to clear the table except for Aveline, who had been resistant to Waverly’s instruction that she must stay at Traeger Hall and not leave at night as she’d been doing.
Waverly knew Aveline didn’t wish to sleep in a mansion with dead people.
She could hardly blame her. But there was the issue of Preston’s insertion now, and the thin grasp Waverly had on maintaining decency rested on the poor maid’s shoulders.
Waverly pushed herself up from the table and eyed the dirty dinnerware.
Aveline would clean it up after they left.
Dinner had been made quickly after Waverly sent an impassioned plea to the cook, who agreed to come back to Traeger Hall once before breakfast and once before lunch, leaving enough rations for Aveline to serve dinner.
But now Aveline had disappeared, and Waverly couldn’t blame the young woman.
She knew the maid wouldn’t reappear until she could do so alone and without eyes on her.
Waverly marched from the room, her head held high as though a throng of onlookers were watching to see what Waverly would do next. As it was, she entered the front hall, crossed it, and peered into the parlor.
Had Uncle Leopold’s eyes begun to sink into his head?
She tiptoed to his body to observe more closely.
Sure enough, it looked as if the regions of his eye sockets were hollower.
It had been only a few days since death, so at least Uncle’s skin wasn’t falling off yet.
Waverly sniffed the air. The flowers seemed to be doing the trick, although there was an odd, pungent undercurrent to the perfumed orange, purple, and yellow potted chrysanthemums.
She rounded Uncle Leopold and bent over Aunt Cornelia. For some reason, Waverly was certain she saw her aunt’s hand twitch. She leaped back and stared at it.
“Aunt Cornelia?” Waverly’s whisper sounded loud and intrusive in the otherwise empty room.
The dead woman didn’t move or respond. Which was good. Maybe it was normal for the eyes to play tricks. Waverly sensed a coolness come over the room, and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Well, that is unkind,” she chided Aunt Cornelia.
If the woman’s spirit was hovering over her body now, Waverly would not have been at all surprised.
She could feel the censure in the marrow of her bones.
“I merely left the room to cut boxwood and eat my dinner,” she explained to Aunt Cornelia’s ghost. “And you of all people should know that shirking my duties would be the one thing to bring you back from the dead.” Waverly tilted her head and looked down at her aunt’s face.
Pale. Unearthly. Spongy. “And I certainly do not want that,” she added with a curl of her lip.
A swift and sudden rush of cold air blew across her face, and Waverly yelped.
Without staying to investigate, she hurried from the parlor and slid the pocket doors shut.
This time, if her aunt and uncle really did wake from some unresolved comatose state that made them appear dead, they could do it alone.
She was not going to fulfill a part of her uncle’s last wishes merely because he’d stated them in his will.
Waverly hurried down a short hall to the left of the main staircase.
The entire front hall was rich with cherrywood—the floors, the banister, the molding.
In fact, as she stopped in front of Uncle Leopold’s closed study door, Waverly realized the entire wall leading to it was paneled with cherrywood as well.
There were no wall coverings and no decor but sconces for lighting.
It struck her how little she noticed details until she was alone.
And yet there was Preston.
He was seated at Uncle Leopold’s desk as if the man were not just yards away, lying on his iced bed of deathly rest.
“What are you doing in my uncle’s study?” Waverly heard the edge in her voice. She also heard the quiver, which undermined her attempt to sound confident.
Preston gave her a look that indicated her question was out of line.
“I’m doing what needs to be done. Your uncle’s businesses do not just stop with his death.
Many are reliant on the sawmill, on the logging company up north, and so on.
There’s the board of trustees at the bank to be met with.
Certain things must be put in place to avoid complete economic havoc for Newton Creek. Have you considered that?”
Of course she had considered it, and Mr. Grossman had crushed any hope that she might benefit from any of it.
Grossman and his firm now retained a controlling interest regarding management of the estate’s assets, which was something Waverly had no desire to reveal to Preston.
No doubt he would find out soon enough. Still, she’d let Mr. Grossman be the one to drop the heavy news on Uncle Leopold’s assistant.
She could almost see the greed in Preston’s expression.
The expectation that somehow he would benefit from her uncle’s death.
Was Preston assuming he’d been included in the will?
Did he think he’d be taking Uncle Leopold’s place at Traeger Hall?
Waverly saw a gleam in the man’s eyes, and a sudden realization washed over her.
“No,” she stated firmly.
“No?” He raised his eyebrows and folded his hands in front of him, elbows resting on Uncle Leopold’s desk.
“There will be no marital alliance between you and me.” Waverly was determined to nip that notion in the bud.
“But it could be beneficial—”
“I said no.” Waverly bit her tongue. Beneficial?
How? Once Preston found out she would be evicted from Traeger Hall and the estate sealed up like a tomb in no more than a week’s time, she would be as worthless to him as a discarded penny.
She had no idea how the man would respond once faced with the truth of Uncle Leopold’s will.
“You’re being shortsighted, Miss Pembrooke,” Preston said and tapped his index fingers together.
“And you’re being presumptuous.”
Preston shook his head slowly. “I think not. I am only doing as your uncle would wish me to do in his absence.”
Waverly debated telling the arrogant assistant everything, but then he continued before she could speak.
“I intend to do as Leopold wished and ensure that his interests are seen after.” He stood and rounded the desk, dragging his index finger along the edge of it.
“You can tend to the burials. If there are terms to the will that require further discussion, I’m certain Mr. Grossman will call upon me.
” He drew to a stop in front of Waverly, leaving mere inches between them.
“I’m sure he will.” Waverly lifted her chin.
My, how stunned Preston would be when Mr. Grossman returned to Newton Creek and told him everything.
She kept her arms crossed over her chest now for a different reason—one of self-preservation—and she wondered how she had never noticed the vitriol in Preston Scofield’s eyes before today.
He had always given the impression of being the one to do her uncle’s bidding, not one who held any real authority.
But now, in the wake of her uncle’s death, Preston was transforming into someone else entirely.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he added, giving her a wave of dismissal. “Right now, there are business matters to be seen to. You must realize the importance of that as well as your inability to tend to them.”
Preston must have read submission in her silence, as a conceited look of satisfaction came over him.
He gave a short nod. “Now, I am going to retire for the night. I strongly advise you return to your place beside Leopold and his wife, for there is no one else here to carry on with the vigil.” He pushed past her and made no apologies when his shoulder brushed hers.
Pausing at the door, Preston dared to offer her a patronizing smile.
“Go through your uncle’s papers if you wish.
If you come across anything confusing to you, simply set it aside.
I believe you will find yourself quite overwhelmed within a few minutes, and perhaps later we can explore how I might be a partner with you in the future. ”
The interloper exited the room, his long legs marching into the innards of Traeger Hall without hesitation.
The very insinuation in his closing statement rankled Waverly.
Preston was probably correct in that she wouldn’t understand the ins and outs of Uncle Leopold’s business ventures.
Even so, she had no intention of entering into a partnership with the man.
She knew very well that he was referring to marriage, which was a wild grab for the inheritance he believed Waverly to be in possession of.