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.”
* * *
For the next three days, Hannah studied the Lansing Enterprises ledgers until numbers and cargo listings were leaking from her ears. Foul weather had claimed two of their largest cargos, not to mention the two ships, sinking both to the bottom of the sea. They had but one ship left—an older one that was in dry dock for repairs.
No matter how hard she stared at the figures, she couldn’t come up with additional income. The majority of the balances had a minus before them. She longed to discuss it with Grandfather, but the doctor had said that any added stress might cause him to suffer a relapse. He was to be kept as calm as possible. She mustn’t burden him with business.
Shuffling through the layers of letters and bills, she categorized them from most pressing to least—the most being a legal document from San Diego regarding the shipment of furniture and supplies to the Hotel Del Coronado, an establishment that was to rival the Palace in San Francisco. Apparently upon hearing of the downed ships, the owners had sent an immediate claim demanding compensation. She frowned. How considerate of them when Grandfather’s health hung in the balance. Some things were more important than their gold-rimmed tea sets. She dropped the offending papers on the desk and then checked the time on the cabinet clock. Nearly noon. Perhaps his tray was ready. She rose to her feet and found Nina in the kitchen assembling Grandfather’s lunch. “I’ll take it to him,” she said, picking up the tray laden with warm, mashed apples and cinnamon, a thin slice of cheese and clam chowder soup. “I’d welcome a respite.”
“You’ll be sick yourself if you don’t rest a bit, Miss Lansing. You must take care. You can’t solve everything in a day as much as you try.”
“Thank you, Nina.” She scooted out of the room. Nina would talk forever if given the chance. Her conversation was at times comforting, but right now Hannah needed solutions, not chatter.
She climbed the stairs and entered Grandfather’s room. Upon seeing him sitting up in bed, surrounded by plumped pillows, she stopped short, nearly dropping the tray. “You’re sitting up!”
A gruff “Harrumph” punctuated the expectant pause following her words. He had no patience for people who stated the obvious. Quickly she handed the tray off to the nurse and hurried to his bedside.
“Are you well enough to do this?” she asked, worried that the strain might be more than he could handle.
He held his left hand out to her, and she moved to take it, letting him draw her to his side. She sat on the edge of the mattress and expelled a shaky breath. “You...you are stronger today?”
At his nod, she motioned to the nurse, who rose and stepped from the room. Hannah had made it a point to help Grandfather daily with his meals. So far, she’d managed to keep from pouring out her worries, but today would be doubly hard. The company lawyer had dropped by with a large packet, and the post had just arrived full of overdue bills.
She spread the linen napkin over his chest and scooped up a spoonful of soup. When she raised it to his lips, his gaze met hers.
“Whas wong?” he said, his words slurred.
Her smile was forced. “Hungry myself, that’s all.” She scooped up another spoonful, but he clamped his mouth shut.
“Whas wong?” he repeated and pointed to the lap of her skirt where she’d worried the fabric into a wrinkled mess.
She sighed. She’d never been able to get away with anything with him. He could read people—her especially. The talent had made him a keen businessman—that and his innate stubbornness. People didn’t call him Old Ironhead for no reason. He nearly always got his way. Perhaps it would be smarter to let him help her. Frustration at being kept in the dark would surely be worse than concocting a plan of action.
“I’ll tell you if you promise to eat.”
In answer, he opened his mouth, ready for another spoonful.
While he ate, she told him how she’d discovered the bills piling up. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ships? Perhaps I could have helped.”
Grandfather shook his head.
“But it affects me. It affects you and this entire household. You need to trust me with this.”
Rather than acknowledge her, he indicated he was ready for another spoonful of soup.
Pressing her lips together, she held back the retort that threatened and brought the soup to his mouth. “It appears Thomas’s company reimbursed for the first ship and cargo, but I couldn’t find any insurance paperwork on the second ship. Does he have that at his office?”
Grandfather shook his head slightly and glanced out the window. Ignoring her? Or considering what to answer? She wasn’t sure.
“Should I send a telegram to Stuart?”
It seemed the obvious solution to her. Stuart managed his own shipping business now, but having trained under Dorian, he still partnered with him on an occasional run. Grandfather furrowed his brows.
“What, then?”
He grabbed the paper and pen from his bedside table. Moving them to his lap, he proceeded to write, left-handed and awkward.
“See? You should have learned to sign. It would help now,” she said, teasing lightly while he scribbled. He grunted, apparently not flattered by her suggestion.
“Here. Let me take a look.” She picked up the note and deciphered his squiggly handwriting. “Accept Thomas’s offer?” Her gaze flew to his. “Marriage? You think the answer is for me to marry?”
He frowned at her with only half of his face, took the paper and wrote again. He’ll take care of you.
She couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. For years he’d said Lansing Enterprises was her legacy, and now he was asking her to turn her back on it? She rose to her feet and paced in the small confines of the room. “But...what about the business? Families we employ depend upon Lansing Enterprises for their livelihood. What about them? I cannot consider only myself.”
With the pen, he carved the words in the paper, tearing it in the process. You need a secure future.
“But I thought... I believed...” She searched for the right words. He’d led her to believe she would inherit the company. “This is just a temporary setback. We’ll build the business back up. We’ll press on. That’s what you always say.”
He pressed his lips together on the one side of his mouth, and wrote, “Thomas knows what to do.”
That