Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,107

own attempts to marry her off.

When he eventually fell silent, Charley summoned the courage she needed to say what was on her mind. “Mother requested that you bring me to England so that I could be presented to gentlemen—at balls, at garden parties and such—not so that you could force me upon a titled one over a game of cards, a game that you cheated in.”

He dipped his chin. It wasn’t often her father managed to appear sheepish. But then he just as quickly glared in her direction. “I don’t know what it’s going to take to get you married. You don’t seem to understand that I can’t watch out for you forever.”

“Well, I won’t be forced.” She glowered back at him. She had him precisely where she wanted. “But…”

He shot her a weary glance. “But…?”

“I can perhaps be persuaded.” She delighted in the fact that his eyes lit up.

“To… marry?”

“If you meet my terms.”

At her response, he threw back his head and laughed out loud. “By God, no one can ever accuse you of being anyone’s daughter but mine.”

Charley met his gaze and lifted her chin. “Lord Westerley has offered for me.”

That light in his forest green eyes brightened. “And?”

“I will agree to it, on three conditions.”

He subdued his enthusiasm slightly but was rubbing his hands together. “And they are?”

“Firstly,” Charley began, “You will continue developing the whiskeys I’ve been working on back home. And you will market them and price them according to the business plan I showed you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Six months before we left for England.”

He was nodding however. “I believe I can manage that. What is your second… demand?”

She inhaled and then exhaled slowly. “You promise never to use slaves. Ever.”

She watched as his jaw tensed, his whole person really. “I’ve already addressed this with you—”

“Then I shall return to Philadelphia, with or without your permission, and I will do everything I possibly can to discredit Jackson Whiskey. I dedicate myself to protesting the president and all aspects of slavery. I will write articles for the papers, I will go to your competitors. I will—”

“God damnit, Charley. Fine.”

Charley nearly tripped over her own feet. “What did you say?”

“I said fine. I’ll not use slaves. Will that make you happy?” Large wrinkles furrowed his brows and frown lines carved out the bottom half of his face, but…

A little flutter of excitement danced up her spine. “Excellent.” She knew better than to make a big deal out of his capitulation.

And then he turned his head to stare off into the distance. “Your mother didn’t like it either.” Charley’s heart stopped at the reminder. How had Charley forgotten something like that? A burning feeling settled in her chest and her eyes stung.

“Was that why she didn’t like living in America?” Not simply because it wasn’t proper enough? The hope that she’d had something so important in common with her mother was… everything.

The revelation nearly sent her reeling.

“It was one of her reasons. She insisted that it was inhumane, pointed out the laws England was passing to stop the slave trade. Said she’d take you and never come back if I so much as put a single slave to work… She was already gone when I seriously contemplated it.” He shook his head, as though to dismiss his melancholy, and then held her gaze with his. “Sometimes you are so much like her… Don’t know what I’ll do without you, despite you being a giant thorn in my side. But always know you are everything I could have ever asked for in a daughter. I’m so damn proud of you, Charley.”

Upon hearing these words, the stinging in her eyes gave way and long-suppressed tears streamed down her face. It was the most personal thing he’d ever said to her.

He’d never told her he was proud of her. Not once. In all this time…

“I love you.” Unable to contain herself, Charley flung herself across the few feet that separated them and buried her face against his shoulder. When his arms wrapped around her, she cried even harder. “I’m going to miss you dreadfully.”

They stood there for all of a minute, which might as well have been a lifetime for her father, before Charley pulled herself together and, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, stepped back.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Your third condition?”

She swallowed the huge lump of emotion that had formed in her throat and nodded. “Just that you visit England, or Jules and I come to Philadelphia, at least

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