Fate's Intervention Read online

  “Finally, the manners I raised you with are showing,” her father said, earning an irritated look from his daughter and a smile from Matthew.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Matthew said. He walked across the room and offered the old man his hand.

  Peter shook it, impressed with the firm grip.

  “So, who are you, son?” Peter asked. “And what are you doing going about upsetting young women?”

  Matthew saw the teasing look in the old man’s eyes and laughed, “I guess I do owe you an apology, sir. It wasn’t exactly the best first impression I’ve ever made.”

  “Can’t say it was,” Peter agreed readily and Matthew wondered if he was still teasing with him since the twinkle in his eyes had vanished. “So, what happened between the two of you that would cause my daughter so much upset?”

  Marcelle stepped forward and placed a hand on Matthew’s arm, suddenly calm in the face of her father’s distress. “Maybe I’d better tell him, since the decisions made today were mine.”

  Matthew nodded and backed away. He admired her courage. He’d only just met her father, but he could tell he was a tough man. He could also see how much affection he had for his daughter and sensed that while he would be likely tough on her, he’d be fair as well. He liked the man.

  Marcelle sat on the edge of the bed and faced her father, hands wringing nervously in her lap. “You will be happy to know that, with Mr. Daragh’s help, I managed to procure four marvelous animals today.”

  “Only four, and why would you need Mr. Daragh’s help? You know good horseflesh, dearest.”

  “Well, these particular horses are top of the line breeding horses. One stud and three mares.”

  “I trained the stud myself, sir, so I can vouch for his stamina and good health,” Matthew interjected, watching the exchange closely. After all, his job depended on just how well this conversation went.

  “Mr. Daragh helped me purchase the horses since they were out of our price range, plus I’d just hired him to work for us,” Marcelle murmured so softly that her father almost missed what she said – almost.

  He watched his daughter for a short while before responding, stunned at what she’d just told him. He was going to ask what possessed her to hire the young man sitting across the room, but he hoped it was because of an underlying attraction that meant she would make an effort toward walking down the aisle. If that wasn’t the case, he could deal with Matthew Daragh and his employment later. Instead, he focused on the horse situation, which was the major concern. Without horses to supply his clients . . . good Lord, he didn’t want to dwell on the consequences. He took a deep, calming breath before continuing.

  “You are aware that selling breeding horses wouldn’t be profitable for me, Marcelle. Many times, they cost more to acquire than the money I could get for them. I think you can see where this is going,” he said gently, not wishing to reprimand his daughter too harshly in front of a stranger.

  “Yes, father, I know that, but once the foals come, they will be of such wonderful quality that people will travel from everywhere to purchase solely from our stables – and pay top dollar for them, I’m sure,” Marcelle said. Her father saw the excitement in her eyes and smiled sadly.

  “Yes, dear, I could see the potential for that,” her father said carefully, trying not to make her feel too inept. After all, he had sent her out to do a man’s job today and she hadn’t really done all that bad, “but what is it that we are supposed to do meanwhile, dearest?”

  “What do you mean, Father?”

  “Well, it will take a year or two for the mares to give birth to the foals. Then Mr. Daragh here will then need to train those foals before he can deliver them to new buyers. That is why you said you hired him; but what do we do meanwhile? We have a responsibility to deliver stable horses to our remaining clients, and now we can’t do that. If that isn’t done, Stanharbor will lay siege to our few remaining clientele.”

  “Oh, Lord, Father, I’m so sorry,” Marcelle cried and covered her face in her hands.

  “Don’t fret, dearest, we’ll think of something,” her father said gently and then turned to face Matthew. “I appreciate what you did for Marcelle and me today, Mr. Daragh, but I have to know what is it that you’re getting out of all this? People don’t generally commit themselves to something so completely without knowing in advance what’s in it for them.”

  “Well, sir,” Matthew said, “I admit I did jump in feet first without much thought.” Matthew turned his gaze toward Marcelle. “Especially since your daughter assured me that she was your voice today, deciding for you – and I believed her. In addition, I liked her enthusiasm over the plans she just laid out for you. As to the why,” he continued, returning his gaze to Peter. “Your daughter offered me a job when Stanharbor forced me to quit his employment . . . ,” Matthew started, but Peter raised a hand to interrupt.

  “You worked for Clifford Stanharbor?”

  “Only for a month, sir, but then he tried to force me to wed his daughter and I quit. Frankly, sir, if your daughter hadn’t decided to hire me, I may have had a difficult time finding employment without a letter of recommendation from Stanharbor.”

  “Ah! I see,” her father said, eyeing his daughter curiously. “Go on.”

  “Well, I think your daughter’s plans for the future are well thought out and very plausible. She’s an intelligent girl.”

  “Yes, I know,” Peter said with pride, causing Marcelle to blush, “but,” he stopped, signaling that Matthew should continue.

  “Well, sir,” Matthew said, getting back to his reasoning, “in a few years time, Weatherman Stables could very well attract top buyers, like Marcelle said. I’m willing to take that risk. I think it’s a profitable risk that’s worth taking. As for what to do about the clients you have now that are waiting for horses, your daughter and I will go back to the auction and find some suitable stable horses for – how many do you need?”

  “Five.”

  “We’ll find suitable mounts for those five. There should be that many remaining at tomorrow’s auction.”

  “You forget, Mr. Daragh, that my daughter pretty much spent all monies budgeted for purchases this trip.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir, but I’ll cover the cost, and as repayment, my percentage from the sale of the future foals will be higher than it would have been; or you could simply pay a little extra in my salary, whichever you prefer.”

  Peter studied Matthew for a short while, looking for a hidden reason behind accepting employment with a foundering stable, but could see none. His concern about finding employment without a recommendation was legitimate. It would have been extremely hard for the young man if Stanharbor were truly determined to ruin his reputation. As for helping with the purchases, he could understand that as well. He was simply buying into a partnership that he believed could succeed. Risky, but reasonable.

  He still didn’t know what to make of him and his daughter, however. It was apparent to him that a mutual attraction existed, but they seemed to be going out of their way to ignore it.

  What happened to make to make this man skittish toward marriage? He wondered. Whatever it was, it had to be serious or perhaps there was something seriously wrong with the lad. After all, if Stanharbor couldn’t bribe him to marry into his family, even with all their wealth as a temptation, then there had to a powerful reason why. Of course, it wasn’t as if Elizabeth was a great catch.

  His Marcelle, on the other hand, would make a man an excellent mate. So why wasn’t this man interested in her? Maybe she’s already too old, he worried. Maybe this Matthew fellow liked his women young, like Clifford Stanharbor. Still, he could tell Marcelle held some appeal for him. He’d barely taken his eyes off her since they came in the room; so there was always hope.

  Then there was Marcelle. She had all but told him to find her someone to marry that was of suitable age. Had even agreed to try to find a man to marry before the end of the year. Yet, when one is all
but hand delivered on a silver platter, she acts as if his existence is no more desired than a pesky mosquito buzzing around her head. Perhaps there was something wrong with both of them.

  Maybe he would need to nudge them in the right direction. Not push, he quickly amended his own thoughts, since pushing would probably send them both fleeing in opposite directions, but a simple nudge might suffice to see his daughter settled before it was too late for him to enjoy grandchildren.

  As he sat there scrutinizing them, a plan began to form.

  “There is just one stipulation for all of this,” Peter said, tenting his hands thoughtfully beneath his chin.

  “What would that be, sir?” Matthew asked, a flag of warning flapping in his brain. He hadn’t liked the way Weatherman spent several minutes staring so intently at him and Marcelle. There was definitely mischief in his eyes, combined with his sudden eagerness to agree to the plan, pending that one stipulation. To his way of thinking, he’d already invested more than half the capital, and had already agreed to purchase more horses out of his already depleted savings, which probably meant sending home for money, which was something he wasn’t prepared to do, so what else could this man want from him? If it were what he was thinking, then he’d take the loss and walk.

  “Well, Mr. Daragh, I don’t know if Marcelle told you or not, but the doctor has told me that I’m dying.”

  “No, Father, I hadn’t told him,” Marcelle interjected softly, watching the exchange between father and employee warily. She didn’t know what her father intended, but she hoped he didn’t do anything foolish, like demand marriage. It was obvious he never wanted to wed and forcing it upon him would make him quit – just like with Stanharbor.

  “Well, nonetheless, I am,” Peter continued. “The doctor is giving me less than a year.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, sir.” Matthew said, saddened for Marcelle. Still, he warily waited for the other shoe to drop. “Isn’t there anything that can be done?” He asked politely, but he really wanted to know in which direction this conversation was headed.

  “Not according to the doctor, but like I was saying,” Peter said, and Matthew braced himself, “when I’m gone, there will be no one to look after my baby girl.”

  There it is. Matthew cringed. Well, he was going to stop this right now before it turned into another Elizabeth situation.

  “Sir, before you . . . ,” he started just when Marcelle began her protestations.

  “Father, please don’t . . . ,”

  “Settle down, you two. I’m not trying to force you into a disagreeable situation!” Peter said hastily, glad that he had chosen an indirect approach. As mercurial as these two were about the subject, he’d never get them down the aisle using a direct method.

  “Oh,” Marcelle and Matthew sighed simultaneously.

  “What I’d like, Mr. Daragh, is to leave my house and my business to you after my death.”

  “What?” Matthew said at the same time as Marcelle.

  “Are you both going to keep interrupting me like twin parrots, or are you going to hear me out?”

  “Sorry,” they said simultaneously again. Marcelle blushed and Matthew coughed self-consciously.

  “I can’t leave them to Marcelle. The law forbids it; however, I can’t abide the thought of her being forced to move to Georgia to live with her Aunt Vera either. So what I’m proposing is that you merely accept the house and business in your name and allow Marcelle to continue living there and helping you for the remainder of her years, or until she weds. You now have a vested interest in seeing Weatherman Stables succeed, and by turning over the house and business to you, it will help you to work harder to keep it running. You keep it going and I don’t have to worry about my daughter’s financial future. That’s my stipulation. Are you willing to accept those terms? It’s a handsome offer, if I do say so myself.”

  “No offense, sir, nor to you Miss Weatherman, but are you certain that you are not using a roundabout way to force your daughter and me to marry?”

  “If I had wanted you to marry my daughter, Mr. Daragh, I simply would have done what Clifford Stanharbor did, and ask you directly if you were interested,” Peter lied gracefully. “As it is, I can see that you oppose the idea of marrying, for whatever reason that I’m sure is none of my concern; however, while I’ve tried unsuccessfully to find a mate for my daughter, she seems just as disinclined to wed. The reasons stated for the proposal are genuine. I simply cannot abide the thought of my daughter losing everything we’ve built because of antiquated laws. Even worse, that those laws could force her to go live with my sister, who would crush her vibrancy in one day. It’s a good offer for you, one that would ensure both you and my daughter’s future, especially if this venture you’ve both decided to start is as successful as you think it will be.”

  “What about your daughter’s reputation? While you’re alive, it’ll be spared, but once you’ve passed . . . well, a single man and woman living together aren’t going to bode well with the societal matrons.”

  “Without a doubt; however, my daughter is nearly beyond marriageable age and as I’ve said, hasn’t really shown an interest in marrying. In all fairness,” Peter paused, and turned to address his daughter, “the decision ultimately falls on your shoulders, my dear. That is, if Mr. Daragh will accept the responsibility of you, our home, and our business, as such.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond, Father,” Marcelle said quietly, deliberately avoiding Matthew’s gaze. She was angry with her father for proposing such an outlandish stipulation and leaving neither of them much choice, but more than that, she was worried that Matthew may think that she was an accomplice in her father’s machinations. She had not a doubt that she saw mischief in his big green orbs.

  Was he trying to force her into marriage by forcing her into a disreputable circumstance? Was he hoping that Matthew would marry her to spare her reputation? With a sigh, she lowered herself back into her chair, her hands clenching and unclenching the material of her skirt. She had to calm herself so that she could think.

  “Marcelle,” Matthew said gently, kneeling in front of her. He suddenly felt sorry for sounding so harsh at the prospect of taking care of her. If her countenance were any indication, she hadn’t known her father would take advantage of his employment to secure her future.

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. She saw the concerned look in his eyes and angry tears formed in hers.

  “I didn’t know this would happen, Matthew,” she said quietly, ignoring the tears that trailed down her cheeks. “You must believe me; I would never try to deceive you . . . ,”

  “Shh. I believe you,” Matthew whispered, wiping her tears away with his fingertips. “I can tell that your father is simply concerned about your well-being; however, I need the courageous woman I met this morning to return so that we can discuss this intelligently and sensibly, okay? Since this is concerning your future as much as it is mine, then I need to know what you really feel about it. Can you do that for me?”

  Marcelle nodded and took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “Mr. Daragh’s concerns are legitimate, dearest,” Peter said, watching their exchange carefully. “If you remain in his household, it would ruin your reputation, once I’ve passed on. Your options are to find a husband before that time, which you are dead set against, or to go live with your Aunt Vera in Georgia, against which we’re both dead set.”

  “If it will make your decision any easier,” Matthew smiled, trying to put her at ease, “I’m willing,” he said shortly, keeping the smile pasted on his face. In reality, his insides were in turmoil over this turn of events, but his conscience couldn’t allow him to turn down Weatherman’s proposal, even if her father made it an ultimatum.

  “You are?” Marcelle’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Why?”

  Matthew stood and moved to the window. He moved the curtain aside and gazed at the people passing by. “I don’t really have a desire to marry, bu
t to live the remainder of my life alone doesn’t hold the appeal that it once did, either,” he answered honestly. “So, you see,” he turned back to face a stunned Marcelle, “your father’s proposal is sound, even if it did set me on my toes at first. Since neither of us wish to wed, it will suit us very nicely. I’ve also had a desire to start the same business that you outlined today, and by accepting your father’s proposal, that business will become a reality a lot sooner than I anticipated. What do you think?”

  “I think I’d rather stay single and endure a shredded reputation, than be forced to marry against my will, especially to the type of men willing to marry someone of my advanced years,” Marcelle said, only slightly in jest. She wiped away the remaining tears with the back of her hand and smiled bravely.

  “I thought as much,” Matthew smiled encouragingly, not as surprised by her agreement as he thought he would be. Most women would swoon over the idea of a ruined reputation, but not Marcelle. She accepted the challenge with the same self-assurance that he noticed during the auction today.

  “We’ll stay with that decision then,” her father said quickly before either of them had a chance to really think things through and change their minds. He was proud of himself. He hadn’t really thought that securing his daughter’s future would be that easy and he felt a sudden weight lift from his shoulders. “If you do find a husband before I pass on, so much the better,” he added, knowing full well that she did not intend to continue her search. Whether she realized it or not, he thought, she’d already met her match.

  “Yes, Father,” Marcelle blushed beneath Matthew’s continued scrutiny and Matthew’s smile increased.

  She really is an enigma, he thought. To risk excommunication from society simply to avoid a trip down the aisle was definitely unusual. Most women of his acquaintance would do anything to make that very trip. He held her gaze, trying to discern any trickery, but her return gaze was without guile. Well, if nothing else, he thought, his life had taken an interesting turn.