Sandra Marton - A Proper Wife

“There is.”

Ryan swung around. “What? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“Will you?” James said softly. “Can I count on you to do something that may, at first glance, seem...difficult?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Have I ever let you down, sir?”

The old man smiled. “No. No, you have not.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll take care of it.”

James hesitated, then cleared his throat.

“I had a visitor last week,” he said. “Two visitors, actually. Your brother’s widow—and his stepdaughter.”

Ryan frowned at the abrupt change in topic. “Bettina came to see you?”

“Yes. With her daughter, the offspring of husband number one, Gordon’s unlucky predecessor twice removed.”

“But why? I mean, Gordon’s been dead more than a year.”

“Oh, Bettina babbled on and on about family for a while but eventually she got down to basics.”

“I’ll bet.” Ryan’s tone was harsh. “What did she want?”

“Money. Not that she said so. Whatever else she is, Bettina’s not stupid. She’d never be so obvious.”

“She’s obvious enough. The only one who never saw through her was Gordon.”

“Evidently he did, at the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“He not only left Bettina, he cut her out of his will.”

Ryan’s eyebrows angled in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. He left his money to charity and his house in San Francisco to me.”

“Damn,” Ryan said softly. A slow grin crept over his mouth. “Now Bettina wants you to do something about it.”

“What she wants, as she so delicately put it, is for me to remember that she is one of us.”

“The hell she is!”

James nodded. “I agree. But there are other considerations.”

“What other considerations? The woman’s no good. She must have slept in a hundred different beds before she set her sights on Gordon.”

“Including yours?”

Ryan swung toward James. “No,” he said harshly, “not including mine—but it wasn’t for lack of effort. She made that clear enough.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

James smiled. “I was only seventy-nine when she married Gordon,” he said wryly. “A man in his prime can always read a woman like that.”

“Gordon couldn’t,” Ryan said, his expression still stony.

The old man sighed. “This isn’t about your brother’s inability to see the truth, it’s about responsibility.”

“Are you saying you feel sympathy for this woman?”

“I’m not talking about sympathy. I’m talking about responsibility. And family obligation. Those things are important, Ryan. Surely you know that.”

Ryan looked at James’s lined face, at the hand holding the cognac glass and its slight but perceptible tremor, and he forced himself to swallow his anger.

“You’re right, so if you’re about to tell me you’ve decided to deed Bettina that house in San Francisco or include her in your will, you needn’t worry. What you do with your estate is your business, sir. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“But you wouldn’t approve.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

James laughed. “Direct, as always.”

Ryan smiled back at the old man. “I wonder where I could possibly have picked up such a trait?”

“Believe me, my boy, I have no intention of giving Bettina anything. I’d never countermand Gordon’s desires.”

“Well, then, I don’t see—”

“Did I mention that her daughter was with her?”

“Yes.” Ryan crossed the room and poured himself some more cognac. “She must be...what? Seventeen? Eighteen? The last I saw her—the only time I saw her, come to think of it—was the evening before Gordon moved to the coast. He brought Bettina and the girl here for dinner.”

“Your memory is better than mine. I didn’t remember the girl at all.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to remember. The child sat like a lump. She was a gawky-looking thing, all bones and knees, decked out in frills that didn’t become her.”

James smiled. “You’ll be glad to hear she’s improved somewhat,” he said dryly.

“Well, I suppose she’s past the awkward age.”

“Indeed,” James said, holding out his empty glass and nodding toward the cognac bottle.

Ryan looked at the glass in the old man’s hand, hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. What did it matter now?

“Meaning,” he said as he poured the cognac, “she’s a chip off the old block?”

“Like her mother? No, not at all. They don’t even look alike. The girl must take after her father. She’s very fair.” James smiled. “Bettina was all got up in some purple thing like a pair of Doctor Denton’s, only two sizes too small and without attached feet.”

Ryan laughed. “A catsuit, I think it’s called.”

“But the girl was dressed as if she were going to have tea with the Queen. Demure little suit, white blouse with a bow at the throat, yellow hair skinned back in a bun.”

“Probably as much a costume as Bettina’s,” Ryan said with a shrug. “Maybe they figured you’d be an easier touch if the girl looked sweet and innocent.”

“It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. The girl was very quiet. Bettina kept trying to involve her in the conversation but she just sat there, quiet as a mouse.”

“Still a lump, it would seem.”

“Well, Bettina certainly did all the talking. She says Gordon cut her out of his will in a fit of temper.”

Ryan snorted. “She only wishes!”

“I didn’t believe it, either. So after they’d left, I phoned my attorney and had him do some checking.” James smiled coldly. “Cutting Bettina out had been deliberate, all right. Seems Gordon had found her in bed with some man.”

Ryan finished his cognac, put down his glass, and folded his arms over his chest.

“I hope you phoned Bettina and told her that.”

“I haven’t told her anything, Ryan. I wanted to speak with you first. You see, my attorney learned something quite unexpected. It seems Gordon had intended to make another change in his will.”

“What kind of change?”

“The week before his death, he stopped by to see his lawyer. He said he’d been thinking about the girl.”

“Bettina’s daughter?”

James nodded. “He said Bettina had shuttled her off to boarding school as soon as they were married because she didn’t want a child underfoot and he felt guilty, not having done anything to stop it. He said he’d never paid her enough attention or fulfilled the obligations of a stepfather.”

Ryan sighed. He was beginning to see the picture.

“Look, Grandfather, if you want to continue paying the girl’s tuition—”

James chuckled. “She’s twenty-three, Ryan. She’s been out of school for four years. And I can see why Gordon was concerned about her. She’s not at all like the young women one sees today. There’s no hard edge to her, no sophistication. I suppose it’s the boarding school that did it. It’s one of those old-fashioned places that hardly exists anymore, where young women are taught to be proper ladies. According to Bettina, the girl plays piano, embroiders, even knows how to serve a proper tea.”

Ryan laughed. “Maybe we should introduce her to Frank.”

“This has nothing to do with Frank,” the old man said sharply. “Are you paying attention to me, Ryan?”

“Certainly, sir. And she sounds...charming.” She sounded either simpleminded or dull as dishwater, but there was no need to say that to his grandfather.

“At first, I was surprised Bettina would have chosen a school that emphasized such things but then I realized she’d hoped her. daughter would make the right friends, perhaps meet the brother of some rich classmate and marry him.”