Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,10
Season business? Aren’t you anxious to get back to work on the new distillery in Knoxville?”
Her father didn’t answer right away, but then he stopped and jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I am American. You,” he turned to her. “Are half-British.”
“I was born in America.”
He began walking along. Charlotte was used to his long strides and almost skipped so that she could keep up with him.
“More than anything, your mother wanted this for you.”
This wasn’t new information. It was difficult to argue with him where her mother was concerned. Six years before, her mother had extracted numerous promises from him when she’d been laying on her deathbed, most of which he’d already made good on. By now, they’d reached a small rise and her father paused again to study the landscape around them.
“Interesting soil in these parts.” Charley crouched down and pinched some of the dirt between her fingers, eager to change the subject. “But it doesn’t have enough sand.”
“No,” he agreed and took up his long strides again. “I intend to travel north of here, closer to the coast after this house party.”
And if it was by the coast, the dirt would consist of more sand, naturally.
“That is an excellent plan. I don’t really need Grandmother’s ridiculous lessons anyway. Do you have any particular place in mind? Are you considering opening a distillery in England?” Her brows shot up at the notion. “I thought you were only seeking assistance in foreign distribution—not production.” Her mind began racing at all of the issues they might run into.
“Not any time soon. I can’t stay away from Knoxville much longer than I already am.” He sent her a meaningful sideways glance. “But you might look into it after you marry.”
Charley’s pleasure at the prospect of journeying up the coast plummeted. “I already told you,” Charley just barely kept herself from stomping her foot. “I have no wish to marry, now or in the future.” She wished he would take her at her word. Of course, she wanted to make her father happy. He was everything to her—her best friend, her mentor, her boss, and the smartest man she’d ever met.
“It’s what your mother wanted.” He stared into the distance. “And if you wait much longer, all your prospects will dwindle away. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-four,” she provided, not at all surprised that her father didn’t remember her exact age. “And it’s hardly fair that you should promise something that is ultimately my own decision. I’m a grown woman. I’m not like her. I never have been. She never understood me.”
“She was your mother,” he snapped. “And she was quite right that a young woman’s place isn’t in business. I promised your mother that I’d bring you to England to marry, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you do.”
Charley clenched her jaw as she ambled along beside him. Sometimes he could be so blasted frustrating! “If she loved England so much, why did she stay in Philadelphia?” It wasn’t a fair question, but neither were her mother’s expectations.
The look her father sent her ought to have singed Charley’s eyebrows. But she wouldn’t be cowed, because she knew the answer already. It was because her mother had married Daniel Jackson, and his home was in America. That’s what wives did; they bowed to their husbands’ demands.
Charley had no intention of marrying now or anytime soon. If ever.
When a woman married, she figuratively and legally handed over control of her life to another person—some man—who of course, would never have her best interests at heart.
Why would he?
She was going to return to Philadelphia, and once they were home, she intended to work so hard that her father had no choice but to allow her to take the reins alongside him in the running of his business.
But first, she must suffer through England.
Chapter 4
JUST VISITING
Charley and her father didn’t walk much farther before a horse and rider appeared on the horizon.
A sharp awareness had her straightening her spine—along with a dash of resentment. Because the rider was none other than the earl.
She only required a single glance to confirm her assessment. Something in the way he held himself in the saddle. His posture sent off the same air of confidence that had bothered her the evening before.
With the grace of a cat, he swung himself off his horse, turned to face her, and, touching his fingertips to the brim of his top hat, bowed. “Beautiful morning.”
Charley hadn’t