Midnight Star by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

badly of them. “And Owen. They wanted me to marry him, of course.”
    “Of course,” Mr. Gillette agreed. “As your husband, he would have had complete control over your inheritance.”
    “Mr. Gillette, will my inheritance make me independent? It doesn’t have to be too much, of course, just enough to keep me and my maid in simple lodgings.”
    To her surprise, Mr. Gillette leaned forwardin his chair and laughed heartily. For a moment Chauncey gazed at his nearly bald head, contrasting the pitiful few dark hairs that were combed carefully over the top of his plentiful side whiskers. “I have said something amusing, sir?”
    “Miss FitzHugh,” he managed at last, “not only are you independent, you are likely now one of the premier heiresses in all of England. My dear, you have inherited some two hundred thousand pounds.”
    Chauncey could only stare at him. “Two hundred thousand pounds,” she repeated stupidly.
    “Yes, my dear. At least I was wise enough not to tell your aunt and uncle the amount of your inheritance. I told them only that it was sizable. I imagine if I let slip the true amount, they would have whisked you willy-nilly to Gretna Green with their obnoxious son in tow.”
    “Two hundred thousand pounds,” Chauncey said yet again. She rose jerkily to her feet. “It . . . it is too much! Oh dear, whatever am I to do?”
    Frank Gillette was silent for a moment, watching the lovely young lady pace in front of him. “I believe you are an intelligent young woman,” he said. “And you are twenty-one and in entire control of the money. I would suggest, my dear, that you have two alternatives: you can either find yourself a husband to control your holdings, or you can learn to manage for yourself.”
    “But I have never even seen one hundred pounds!”
    Before Mr. Gillette could reply, Chauncey suddenly burst into loud laughter. “Oh dear,” she gasped, hugging her sides, “surely I have steppedinto the pages of some fairy tale, and you, sir, are my fairy godfather!”
    “Well,” Mr. Gillette said dryly, “this fairy godfather owns ten percent of your wealth.” He downed the remainder of his tea and rose. “I suggest that you think about it, Miss FitzHugh. Rest assured that your inheritance is quite safe. Here is my card. When you have decided what you wish to do, please contact me.”
    After showing Mr. Gillette out, Mary returned to where Chauncey stood staring blankly into the small fireplace.
    “Is there anything else you wish, madam?”
    Chauncey, startled, looked at Mary, who stood stiffly in front of her. “You’re acting awfully starchy, Mary,” she said. “With all that money, I am suddenly become a madam instead of a miss?”
    “Well, I only want to do what is proper—”
    “Oh, Mary, cut line! Sit down and have some tea. You and I need to discuss what the devil I’m going to do with all my ill-gotten gains!”
     
    The next afternoon, Chauncey, with Mary in tow, entered Mr. Gillette’s office, not far from her Uncle Paul’s, on Fleet Street.
    The single black-frocked clerk was evidently expecting her, for he was on his feet in an instant. He bowed low to her, as if she were royalty. “Miss FitzHugh? Mr. Gillette is expecting you, ma’am. If you will follow me, please.”
    What servility, Chauncey thought, now that I am rich. She winked at Mary, and entered Mr. Gillette’s office. It was large and dark, with heavy mahogany furnishings and two walls lined withbookshelves. Thick brocade draperies were drawn across narrow windows.
    “Ah, my dear Miss FitzHugh. Welcome. Sit down.”
    “I have come to a decision, Mr. Gillette,” Chauncey said without preamble, once she was seated across from his imposing desk.
    “Yes, my dear?” he asked in a carefully neutral voice.
    “I wish to control my own money. I have done a bit of studying in the past twenty-four hours, and have learned that a woman has absolutely no control over anything once she is married.”
    “That is