Glittering Promises (24 page)

“Yes,” Mr. Smith said.

“And that means that if it came to a deadlock on a decision, that my opinion would rule.”

Andrew stiffened at my words.

“Well, yes. But there is also a stipulation in the documentation that you institute a board of directors, should Wallace not be available for counsel.”

“We can recommend some fine gentlemen for the board,” Andrew said. “In fact, I have several classmates that would be most excellent—”

“A board of directors,” I said to Mr. Smith. “What are the qualifications for a board member?”

“Well, usually it behooves a company to nominate men of stature. Men with business acumen. Experience. So that they might advise you well.”

“So they could be men from Dunnigan. Men who know the land and—”

“What?” Andrew interrupted. “There can’t be more than one or two from that godforsaken town that would have half the wits it would take—”

“Men who have sold the land to the mine and may be seeking a new way to support their families?” I asked.

Mr. Smith peeled off his spectacles, one ear at a time, and tapped them on the paper. “There is nothing in here that stipulates who should sit on the board, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’m asking,” I said. I turned to face Mr. Morgan and Andrew and Felix. “We’re radically changing the face of Dunnigan. I want it to be a fine new start for the town, not the death of it. I was very serious when I said I wanted to pay landowners double what the land is worth and leave them the land on which their homes and barns are on. Has that been done?”

“No,” Andrew scoffed. “Your father thought you would come to your senses in time. He only pretended to agree with you in order to placate you.”

“Andrew, please,” Mr. Morgan said, lifting a hand. “That’s not entirely true.” He turned to me. “Your father thought we could address it as a
bonus
when the mine does well. So far, all land has been purchased at the current value. And all seemed happy to sell. However, he did honor your request to leave them their homes, barns, and five acres around each.”

I shook my head. “I want to go back to them all and do as I originally was led to do. Don’t you see? We have the opportunity to be a benefactor, a benevolent leader, rather than a company taking advantage of every citizen. Think of Zacchaeus, the tax collector. Once he saw the light, he went back and repaid everyone four times what they had paid.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Now we’re looking to the Bible for business practices? Let’s leave such things to Sundays, shall we?” He turned to his father and Felix. “This is why women should not be allowed in business! They rule with their hearts, not their heads.”

Will moved, and I worried that he’d pick up the man from his chair and toss him across the room. I set a hand on his leg, stilling him. I knew there wasn’t anything that he could say to win Andrew over.

“This is exactly why women
should
be in business,” Felix was saying, sitting back in his chair. “My sister is going to create a company like the world has never seen.” His was a satisfied, proud smile. “It might not make the profits that others make, perhaps. But it will be a good company, a fine company, a company that any man—or woman—would be happy to call their own. She’s going to make the Kensington name a proud one. Stronger for our association with the Diehls.”

“Bah,” Andrew said. “If you had paid attention at school in even your primary business courses, you would know such ideas are foolish.”

“They may seem foolish up front,” Mr. Morgan interjected. “But they will bear out long-term. Look what happened when we followed her advice in Butte.”

“One instance does not make her the expert, Father,” Andrew said.

Mr. Morgan shrugged. “It was a fairly significant moment. Did we not succeed in leading our workers away from a strike? Are they not far more productive than before? Is it not affecting the bottom line in a positive way?”

Andrew let out a dismissive sound.

“We must take into account,” Mr. Morgan said, “that Cora is of Kensington blood and may very well have inherited her father’s business intuition. The man was uncannily good at ferreting out potential growth in any business he set his mind to. He did so with an iron fist, of course, rather than the velvet hammer as our Cora may wield, but I see no reason to not give her a little leeway.”

“A little?” Andrew asked. He waved a hand toward me. “She wants to double the budget on land acquisition! Land that’s already been purchased. Who would do such a foolish thing other than a woman?”

“I hear her goals clearly, Andrew,” Mr. Morgan returned. “I wonder if you do. Have you bothered to listen?”

Andrew threw up his hands, sat back in his chair, and folded his arms. “Fine. Do what you wish. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“And I want at least half the board members to be Dunnigan men,” I said to Mr. Smith. “Perhaps even a woman.”

“No,” Andrew said. “Absolutely not.” His face was growing red.

“I am not seeking your permission,” I returned. I looked to Mr. Smith. “I can decide this, now, right? Having majority holding in the company?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I would caution you to take care. There is a reason that Mr. Morgan wishes to place educated businessmen on the board.”

“And we shall find them,” I said calmly, even as Andrew rose. “Along with people who care for Dunnigan and its citizens as much as I do.”

CHAPTER 20

~Cora~

The next day, I ignored my queasy stomach, assuming it was the clamor and the constant demands on me from all directions, and joined the group for a tour of Palatine Hill—once the Roman emperor’s home—and below it, the Roman Forum. For days, we’d stayed indoors, and all of us were eager for an outing, to at least pretend we were something more than wrung-out people in mourning. We’d donned new black jackets and skirts in crepe; only our dickies were ivory. Our broad hats were black, and Vivian even had new jet jewelry at her earlobes, matching Lillian’s jet broach.

Over and over, we stopped to pretend to listen to Will’s earnest explanations of scant remains of buildings gone for centuries, but we were each lost in our own thoughts. We saw ancient arenas, fountains, homes, baths and steam rooms, temples and gates, and gradually began to piece them together for a glimpse of Rome in her heady, grand days of power.

Halfway through the imperial remains on Palatine Hill, staring at a fountain in the shape of an Amazonian shield, Lillian broke down, weeping for Father, mourning that he wasn’t with us. Viv and I sat with her for a while until she gathered herself, but her tears made each of us weepy as well. Vivian and Lil’s grief was different than my own, I thought, even as I fished a fresh handkerchief from my purse for Lil. My sisters grieved a father they’d known all their lives. I grieved that I’d missed the opportunity to ever truly know him.

We moved on to the Forum. An hour later, I walked arm in arm with Vivian, marveling at the Roman road beneath our feet, the stones still in their place, wide enough for two chariots to pass by each other, according to Will. In some places, there were even grooves from centuries of wheels passing over them. “They were an impressive people, were they not?” I asked Viv, trying to get her mind on things besides our dead father. “Building so many roads to such distant lands.”

“Indeed. It’s dizzying to consider how vast the empire really was.”

“Lucky for you,” Andrew said, coming to her other side, “you needn’t fill your mind with such facts. You can be free to contemplate the things that women should contemplate.”

“So…history is not useful to women?” I asked.

“I did not say that,” he said with a slight scowl. “Only that Vivian need not spend time thinking about things she finds perplexing. I’m here to do that for her. Perhaps at some point you will allow your suitor to do the same for you, Cora.”

He strode off, and I fought the urge to grab his walking stick and club him over the head with it. “Why do you stay with him?” I asked Viv. “Why not break it off now?”

“It will be easier once we’re home,” Viv said. “He can go his way, I can go mine. Here…” She shrugged her small shoulders. And I could see what she meant. Here in Rome, and then aboard ship, it would be nearly impossible to avoid him. They’d run into each other again and again, making it all the more traumatic. Even back in Butte it would be difficult. But seeing her tolerate him until the end of the tour? It set my stomach to roiling anew.

~William~

Will and Cora were to meet with the reporters that afternoon. As he escorted her into the parlor, he took a second look at her. “Are you all right?”

“What?” she asked, as if confused by his question at first, then she shook her head. “Oh yes, why?”

“You look peaked. Is it your sorrow? Or are you feeling faint again?”

“A little,” she admitted, repositioning her hand on his arm. “But I’ll be fine. I need to get through with this.”

He continued to lead her forward, as she clearly desired, but he watched her closely when she squeezed his arm as they turned the corner. She managed to greet Grunthall and the two reporters, Lexington and Jefferson, and then sit down primly on the edge of a chair, shoulders back, head high. She looked lovely, even in her drab black crepe jacket and skirt.

Will braced himself. It had been a long time since he felt so utterly out of control. The story of their love was about to unfold as Cora decided, not him.

Simon Grunthall leaned forward. “Gentlemen, as I’m certain you anticipated, all questions must be asked of me—”

The two men began grumbling and speaking at once, but Grunthall held up a hand.

“—and I shall allow Miss Diehl Kensington to answer those that are appropriate.”

The reporters exchanged tired looks but then forged on.

“Miss Cora,” began Lexington, who was from the
Washington Post
, “tell us in your own words how you came to be a part of the Kensington clan.”

Mr. Grunthall cast a raised eyebrow at Cora and gave her a nod. He had agreed earlier that the reporters would not rest until this point was verified and put behind them. But how would Cora phrase it?

“I only learned of my…connection to the Kensingtons at the beginning of summer,” she said. “I was raised by my mother and a fine man named Alan Diehl. But after my school term finished, Mr. Kensington paid us a visit and invited me to join my siblings on their tour of Europe.”

She blushed furiously under the men’s intense gaze. But it only made her seem fresh and innocent to him, endearing. Inwardly, he prayed that she’d have the same effect on the reporters and they wouldn’t pry any further.

Jefferson said gently, “So you did not know that Mr. Wallace Kensington was your true father until May of this year?”

Grunthall nodded. He probably knew it was inevitable, such questions. Cora had to get the truth out there now, or the newspapermen would continue to fabricate stories based on conjecture.

“I believe what I’ve discovered of late,” she said, staring right at the reporter, “is that my truest Father is in heaven. But no, I didn’t know of my biological tie to Wallace Kensington until May.”

Jefferson and Lexington shared a look of surprise, but they continued to question her as Cora accepted a cup of tea from a kitchen maid.

“What sort of school were you enrolled in?”

“Normal School. I was working on my teaching certificate.”

“Surely no longer, with your newfound wealth and position.”

“I’m not certain,” she said, glancing at Will. “Wealth comes and goes, but the thirst for knowledge is a perennial need.”

The two men laughed at this.

“What of your bear, William McCabe?” asked Jefferson.

“What of him?” she returned without pausing to see if Grunthall approved.

Jefferson looked to Will and then back to her. “Is it true that you are in love?”

Cora smiled then, and Will thought she looked angelic. “Oh yes,” she said, reaching for his hand. He stepped forward and took it, standing beside her, feeling a mixture of pride and awkwardness.

“What is your relationship, exactly, with Mr. McCabe?”

“Let us keep to Miss Cora and her family,” Grunthall tried.

“What if Miss Cora would like to be a part of Mr. McCabe’s family?” asked Jefferson cheekily. Lexington laughed, but Mr. Grunthall did not, which made Lexington abruptly sober.

“Is it true,” Jefferson said, “that you turned away from Pierre de Richelieu in favor of a romance with Mr. McCabe? How’d a fellow like that swipe you from a powerful man like Richelieu?”

“Perhaps we can address Miss Diehl Kensington’s romances at a later date,” Mr. Grunthall said firmly.

“C’mon, Simon,” Lexington complained. “You know that that’s what most of our readers want to know about.”

“Move along to another line of questions,” Grunthall said.

“No,” Cora interrupted, squeezing Will’s hand. “I want people to know that I chose Will just as much as he chose me,” she said, looking up at him. “And I’m blessed to be in love with him. I chose him because he’s kind and loyal and strong and passionate.”

“I’d love a photograph of the two of you right now,” Lexington said. “Would you mind holding that pose?” He reached for his Kodak, but Grunthall waved him down.

“Photographs later. Of Miss Cora, alone.”

“You’re killing me, Simon,” Lexington grunted, reluctantly ceasing his search in the leather bag he’d brought.

“What does it feel like to be the richest woman in America?” Jefferson asked.

Her blue eyes shifted left and right, then centered on the reporter. “It feels…new.”

The men laughed and scribbled down her words on their pads. Once again, Cora was charming those around her. She had an uncanny knack for it, perhaps something she’d gained from her mother or her papa. Or perhaps even a bit from Wallace. Although she was far gentler than Wallace had been…

“How have you adjusted to the idea of having siblings?”

“I am far more grateful to my father for introducing me to them than I am for introducing me to any world of wealth.” She smiled softly. “And they have been most gracious in accepting me.”