An Arranged Marriage. Susan Fox P.Читать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ALLISON’S nerves were still jittery by the time she returned to town. To her surprise, Uncle Charles had come home early from the bank, and he was waiting in the formal living room with Aunt Petula when she came in.

      “Hello, dear,” Aunt Pet called as Allison walked into the tastefully appointed room. Petula was sitting on one of the three white sofas that were grouped around the low crystal coffee table. Charles stood near the liquor cabinet, his face expectant. A bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket of shaped ice on a sofa table.

      Allison’s soft, “Hello all,” was cautious as she stopped at the sofa and rested a hand on its back. She saw at a glance that Aunt Pet’s expression was tense. Charles was almost never home in the middle of a banking day. The bucket of champagne and the warm look Charles was giving her combined to send a tiny arrow of alarm through her.

      Charles didn’t hesitate. “We trust you and Mr. Sumner have set the date.”

      Allison stared a moment as a feeling of unreality slipped over her. Charles was clearly pleased and excited. A swift glance at Aunt Pet caught Pet’s nervous smile. All at once she realized that both of them must have expected her to accept Blue Sumner’s astonishing marriage proposal.

      Though Charles had already made it clear, in spite of her objections, that he was strongly in favor of her accepting Blue’s proposal, until that moment she hadn’t realized how eager he was for a marriage—and how certain he was that she’d accept. Which was amazing because she and Blue Sumner were complete strangers with almost nothing in common!

      She answered hesitantly, “Well…no, Uncle.”

      “But you went out and spoke to him, saw the house,” Charles prompted cheerily. “I’m certain he’ll allow you to decorate it as you like. Most men are inept at that sort of thing,” he went on, oblivious to Allison’s growing look of alarm. “Sumner might have a lot of rough edges, but he’s filthy rich now, and I doubt there’s anything material he would deny you, as long as you’re willing to make him a proper wife.”

      Allison quickly said, “I’ve rejected Mr. Sumner’s proposal, Uncle.”

      Charles hesitated in the process of opening the champagne bottle to glance over at her, his wide smile faltering. “What was that?”

      The silence stretched. Suddenly she was hesitant to repeat the words. Her mouth went dry. “I’ve rejected Mr. Sumner’s proposal. I was as diplomatic as possible,” she assured him when she saw the pleasantness drain from his face. “I’m certain he sees, as do I, that it would be better for him to wait and marry someone he’s in love with.”

      Charles eased the bottle back down into the ice. His face flushed and his mouth flattened to a harsh line. He glared over at Petula, who was staring down at her clasped hands.

      “I thought I made it clear to both of you—” his angry glance included Allison “—how important this marriage is. I’d hoped to avoid reminding either of you of the reason Chaney Bank is on the verge of insolvency, but I can see now that I should have been more direct.”

      A sick feeling swept Allison. The bank was struggling and Charles blamed her. Her college friend, John Blake, had worked at the bank until three weeks ago. Because he’d been so bright and capable, Charles had rapidly advanced him. Later, when an internal audit showed a huge amount of money missing from the accounts, Charles had suspected John right away.

      He claimed that her reluctance to believe John capable of embezzlement had made him look elsewhere for a culprit, which resulted in the loss of an even greater sum. Days later, John Blake abruptly quit his job and left town. It was shortly after that when Charles realized not only the extent of the embezzlement, but that her friend was undoubtedly the thief.

      “I never would have hired John Blake were it not for my affection for you, Allison, and my regard for your wishes,” he said, his cultured voice arrogantly smooth, though he was clearly very angry. “Now, I think you should feel obligated to honor mine.”

      Allison felt as if a subtle trap were closing on her. She rallied to evade it. “Have you notified the authorities?” She still couldn’t believe that John was a thief, and Charles’s certainty in the matter—as well as his method of dealing with the theft—continued to distress her.

      “I explained why I wanted to handle the situation discreetly,” he snapped. “I can’t help that the private investigators I’ve hired haven’t been able to turn up anything.”

      “Surely the accounts were federally insured against the loss,” she reasoned. “Besides, federal authorities have more resources—”

      “That may be,” he said, cutting in irritably, his voice rising, “but the bank can hardly afford to have it become common knowledge that one of our own employees embezzled enough money to leave the bank insolvent.”

      Charles’s face was mottled and he was glaring almost hatefully at her. Allison was shocked.

      “Blue Sumner can give this bank the kind of business it needs to stay on its feet,” he declared. “You, my dear, are the woman he has chosen to marry. Once he’s a member of the family, I’m certain he’ll be more open to not only transferring his accounts to us, but he’ll naturally turn to me to be his financial advisor.”

      Allison saw a small chance to avoid her part in Charles’s plan and dared to ask, “Has he guaranteed that he will transfer his accounts and have you advise him?” On one hand, it would be foolish for Charles to marry her off to a rich stranger in order to attract his business, with no guarantee that he’d do so. On another, marrying her off to Blue Sumner to get his business and have access to his money was tantamount to selling her.

      Charles pointed at her as if he were scolding a naughty child. “You do your part and accept his proposal. Leave the business end of it to me.”

      Allison felt dizzy. Charles’s scheme to save the bank was unbelievable. Unbelievable and medieval and ridiculous.

      Charles’s harsh, “You talk to her, Petula,” tightened the knot of dread in her middle. “Maybe you can make her see what an ingrate she’s become. I’m going back to the bank.”

      Neither Allison nor Petula spoke as Charles stalked through the house and slammed out the front door. Allison released a shaky breath and looked over at her Aunt Petula.

      Petula Lancaster Wallace was still a beautiful woman. Though well into her fifties, her hair was still blond, her fair skin still taut and the only wrinkles she had of note were faint ones at the corners of her eyes and around her lovely mouth.

      But Aunt Petula seemed to have aged a good ten years during Charles’s brief tirade.

      Allison stepped forward and came around the edge of the sofa to sit down opposite Petula, the crystal table between them. The silence in the wake of Charles’s temper was ominous. Petula’s delicate fingers were shaking and she wouldn’t meet Allison’s gaze.