The Gunslinger and the Heiress. Kathryn Albright

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      “I’ll take it from here, Toby. Go see to the other customers.” The shop’s owner, Mr. O’Connell, a heavyset Irish man with a handlebar mustache, turned the book back toward himself as the new clerk scurried away with a look of relief on his young face. “Can’t have my other customers’ tabs becoming general knowledge, now, can I? I’m sure, given your family’s business, you understand, Miss Lansing.”

      What he implied stung. She wasn’t one to manipulate such knowledge to her own advantage, though she knew those who would. She was only interested in the accounting of the Lansing total.

      The two customers had stopped their discussion and listened intently now. Good gracious, but this was getting uncomfortable! Her cheeks heated. She never carried much money on her. According to Grandfather, it was unladylike. There had never been any problems in the past with putting items on a tab. Her gloved hands shook slightly as she loosened the blue ribbon cinching her purse and counted out enough money to cover a deposit on the pipe. “In the first place, I hadn’t planned to have my grandfather pay for his own present, but it quite takes me by surprise that you won’t extend credit to me. I shall return tomorrow with the rest. Good day, Mr. O’Connell.” She made a stiff-backed, dignified exit—a Lansing exit. Grandfather would be proud—she hoped.

      Once outside she stopped and took a deep breath, allowing a moment for her cheeks to cool and to put up her umbrella against the light rain. Down the wet street, her carriage waited. She had planned to stop at the milliners to check the designs for a new spring bonnet, but now she was uncertain. Would she run into the same predicament there as she had at the tobacco shop? Perhaps it would be best to first speak with Grandfather.

      “Please, take me home,” she instructed her driver when she arrived at the carriage. He jumped down from his seat and assisted her inside the conveyance. Only then, obscured by the dark velvet curtains from the curious stares of the few people who had ventured out in this weather, did she sink back into the plush cushions and consider what had just occurred.

      It had to be a mistake. Grandfather was always punctual in paying his bills to the point of being regimental. For as long as she could remember, there had been plenty of funds from the shipping enterprise to cover incidentals whenever she’d wanted anything. Perhaps, with Stuart away, Grandfather needed a hand with the business. It couldn’t be easy keeping track of everything with all that he had to do.

      The carriage jolted into motion, but she paid no attention to the tree-lined city parading by. Absently she tugged on the pendant at her breast. Ever since Grandmother Rose had passed on, Grandfather had been happy to have her run the household. Although she was now proficient at throwing dinner parties and carrying on the conversation with business associates, Grandfather had maintained that the shipping business was a man’s task. In the past five years he’d expanded it—adding two more ships. Had it become too much for him to oversee without an assistant?

      The trip from the shopping district to the Lansing estate on Nob Hill took a matter of minutes. Once there, she hurried up the wide marble stairs and through the massive front door. The faint scent of lemon polish reached her as she deposited her cloak and umbrella into Edward’s waiting arms. “Grandfather?”

      “In his study, miss.”

      She headed down the hallway, untying her bonnet as she walked. The sound of her footsteps on the tiles echoed off the high ceiling and walls.

      “Grandfather? We need to talk—”

      His room was empty.

      She sighed in frustration, spun around to search farther down the hall and then stopped herself. Something wasn’t right. She turned back to the study. Papers and notes were scattered askew over Grandfather’s massive desk. Totally unlike him. Neatness and order ruled Dorian Lansing and everything around him. He controlled his estate in the same manner he had once, as a young man of twenty-two, controlled his first ship—or so she’d been informed.

      She hesitated in the doorway. Slowly, eerily, a moan issued, the sound coming from behind the dark Victorian desk. Her breath hitched in her chest. She ran to the far side of the furniture and found him lying prostrate on the parquet floor, his face pasty white.

      “Grandfather!” she cried out, kneeling beside him. In the next breath she screamed, “Edward! Come, quick!”

      * * *

      A significant stroke, the doctor said. Upon hearing it, Hannah’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Grandfather would need constant care and rest if he was to recover. After seeing the family’s personal physician out, Hannah called the house staff together in the kitchen.

      “Where is Tan Ling?” she asked. “She should hear this, too.”

      “Mr. Lansing discharged her last week, miss,” Edward explained.

      “Oh,” she said, confused. Grandfather had neglected to tell her. Then she grew irritated. She should have been informed. After all, she was in charge of the household staff. It was her job to do the hiring and discharging. Tan Ling had been with the Lansings for the past three years. What of the letters of recommendation the young woman would need to find new employment? Had Grandfather considered them? Besides, more than any paperwork, she would have liked to have said goodbye.

      She looked over the expectant loyal faces of those before her. “Mr. Lansing has taken ill and will require special care. A nurse will be attending him over the next few weeks while he recovers.” If he recovers, she thought to herself, and then quickly pushed the traitorous idea from her mind. He had to get well. He just had to. “Please make her welcome when she arrives.”

      A burning sensation threatened behind her eyes. “This illness will be especially hard on Grandfather. He’s...he’s weak on his right side and unable to get out of bed. I’m sure you know how independent he has been.”

      Looks passed between the staff.

      Hannah understood their trepidation. Dorian wasn’t known for his patience or temperate disposition when he was in good health. What would the household be like now?

      “That is all. Except, Edward? A word, please.”

      Hannah waited for the others to take their leave, and then turned to the butler. He had been a sailor on one of Grandfather’s ships before coming to work at the estate. He’d been with Grandfather the longest and was a man she knew would answer honestly.

      “What happened with Tan Ling? Was there an infraction of the rules?”

      “No, miss.”

      “What, then?”

      He paused, a discomfited look passing over his usually austere face.

      “I have known you many years, Edward. Please, speak freely. I know you are cognizant of a great many things within the household and keep them to yourself.”

      “Very well, then.” His brow furrowed as he chose his words. “I believe Mr. Lansing was concerned with conserving costs. The loss of his ships—”

      Ships lost? She schooled her face to remain impassive. “Obviously it is worse than he confided to me.”

      Edward exhaled, believing her ruse that she was in her grandfather’s confidence. “I believe so.”

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