Courting Miss Adelaide. Janet Dean

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      “More?” Unable to sit, Charles strode to the fireplace, putting him across from Miss Crum, the woman who’d made a crack in his frozen heart. What a joke on him.

      Miss Crum’s eyes were wide, probably seeing dollar signs. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew the accusation wasn’t true. Still, the idea clung to his mind like a burr under a saddle.

      Mr. Evans bent over the paperwork. “‘The equal shares of The Noblesville Ledger are not to be sold by either Charles Graves or Adelaide Crum for a period of two months. If either heir goes against my wishes, and sells his or her half of The Noblesville Ledger before the end of a two-month waiting period, the equipment and building are to be sold, all proceeds going to charity.’”

      Charles stalked back to the table. Mary met his gaze with a worried frown. “He promised the paper to me! Why did he leave a perfect stranger half of my paper? Then force us to keep this ludicrous arrangement for months?”

      Mr. Evans tipped his head between Charles and Miss Crum. “Perhaps she isn’t a stranger, at least not to your father.”

      Color climbed Miss Crum’s neck. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting—”

      “My father returned to Noblesville only once—four years ago, when he bought The Ledger.” Charles turned to Miss Crum. “Did you two arrange this then?”

      Miss Crum gasped. “I’ve never even met your father.”

      “Adam didn’t share his motives with me, but rest assured, knowing your father, he had his reasons. Where there’s a will, there’s always a reason.” Mr. Evans chuckled to himself.

      Charles scowled. “Have you considered joining a minstrel show, Mr. Evans?”

      The attorney sobered. “I apologize.” He handed Mary and Miss Crum a copy of the will, then laid the third copy where Charles had been sitting. “This lawyering can get dry as dust. I can see this is no laughing matter.”

      “Surely we can make this partnership work for two months,” Miss Crum said, as if her ownership was of no consequence. “I won’t be underfoot at The Ledger. I have my own business to run.”

      “Charles, sit down,” Mary said, tears brimming in her eyes.

      But he couldn’t sit. Just when Charles had found some measure of control over his life, his father yanked it out of his hands. Even from the grave, Adam managed to control—no, punish—him.

      His gaze sought the milliner’s. “If you’re expecting this business relationship to be pleasurable, Miss Crum, you’re mistaken. As soon as I can, I’ll buy you out. In the meantime, I promise, this will be the longest two months of your life.”

      Chapter Five

      Minutes later Adelaide stormed out of the hotel and strode up the street. How dare Charles Graves act as if she’d robbed him? She’d considered him a friend, but he’d treated her like an enemy. True, he’d been denied half ownership of the paper, a sizable financial loss, but that hadn’t been her doing.

      Adelaide dodged a woman holding a towheaded boy by one hand. The sight of the child put a catch in her throat. But she wouldn’t think about that now, not when her mind couldn’t grasp Charles’s hatred of her mother, a woman he’d never met.

      She’d get to the bottom of this. No more guessing about her mother and father, about her past. But where should she begin?

      Before taking sick, once or twice a year her mother had cleaned the attic. Now that Adelaide thought about it, she always gave an excuse why she didn’t need help. The last time Adelaide had been up there, she’d stored equipment used to care for an invalid. She’d seen a few pieces of furniture, a couple trunks. Could the trunks hold the answer?

      About to turn the corner onto Ninth, she heard a shout.

      “Adelaide, wait!” With one hand clamped on her bright green hat and holding her billowing skirts with the other, Mary rushed toward her. Adelaide slowed her steps.

      “You’re—a fast—walker,” Mary said, her words uttered in hitches as she came alongside.

      “Only when I’m angry.”

      Mary sighed. “I’m sorry about Charles’s reaction to the will. He’ll get used to sharing the paper.”

      “I doubt that.”

      “He calls the paper his dream, but really it’s his refuge.”

      Two men strolled past, discussing the rising price of seed. Once out of earshot, Adelaide leaned closer to Mary. “Do you understand why Adam Graves left me half the paper?”

      “I have no idea. I never knew Sam’s father, only met him once—at Sam’s funeral. He came up to the casket, spoke to me and the boys, and then tried to have a word with Charles. That didn’t go well, and Adam left immediately, didn’t even attend Sam’s graveside service. He never contacted me after that, not even to check on his grandsons.”

      Mary fell in beside Adelaide and they began walking again, but at a slower pace. When they reached the Masonic Lodge with its impressive gables, Mary cleared her throat. “If you never met Adam, then the connection had to have been between your mother and Adam.”

      “My mother never mentioned him, but a friend said they were childhood sweethearts. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m going to search the attic to see what I can find.”

      Mary laid a hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Do you want company?”

      At the gesture, Adelaide blinked back sudden tears. “That’s a kind offer, but…why would you want to?”

      “I wouldn’t want to poke around in the past alone. Plus, I knew Sam, and I know Charles. Perhaps I can give you insight.”

      “I’d appreciate it,” Adelaide admitted, then led the way to her shop.

      Inside, they found Laura helping a shopper try on a hat. “Back already?”

      Adelaide took Laura aside. “Thanks for tending the store. Would you mind staying while Mary and I have a visit?”

      Laura greeted Mary, and then smiled. “I’d love to stay. I’ve missed the shop.”

      Adelaide ushered Mary up to her quarters, then lit the lantern and opened the door to the attic. Adelaide climbed the stairs with Mary close behind. In the dim light, Adelaide didn’t see the cobweb until it plastered against her face, a sticky reminder of the attic’s neglect.

      At the top of the stairs, the scent of lavender permeated everything her mother had touched, now mingled with the musty smell of age. Regret she and her mother hadn’t been close laid heavy on her chest. Maybe here she’d find the clue to her mother’s aloofness.

      Mary looked around the stand-up attic. “This is huge,” she said, then sneezed.

      “I’m sorry, it needs cleaning.”

      Mary laughed. “With two boys, I’m used to a little dust.”

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