Bare. That’s the word that came to mind as he looked around the entryway and beyond. It was like a gorgeous painting stripped of all its details, all the way down to the first broad brushstrokes covering the canvas. The basic structure was still there. The silver-leafed cabinetry, the crystal doorknobs, the delicate ironwork. But a lot of the decorative china and porcelain figures and landscape paintings he remembered from that long ago day had disappeared, leaving behind bare shelves and walls that projected an air of sadness.
They had entered the house through a side door, the same one Mason had been let into fifteen years ago. The long hallway took them past the formal dining room and a parlor, then a couple of now empty rooms until they came to a sunken area facing the back of the house. Apparently the family used this as a cozier living room, if one could call the massive, hand-carved limestone fireplace and equally impressive Oriental carpeting “cozy.”
Upon closer inspection, the once pristine furniture had a few worn corners. But weirdly enough, what impacted Mason the most was the flowers. Not the ones in the overrun garden outside the wall of windows, but the ones in the vase on the table behind the sofa as they entered the room.
He vividly remembered the large sprays of flowers in intricate vases from his first visit, impressed as he had been with their color and beauty. They’d been placed every few feet in the hall and several in each of the rooms he’d glanced into and entered. But this was the first flower vase he’d seen today: a simple cut-glass one. Inside was an arrangement of flowers that looked like they’d been cut from the wild gardens. Pretty, but they were obviously not the designer arrangements of hothouse blooms he remembered.
Boy, the privileged had truly come down in the world.
Glancing over to the couple seated near the fireplace, he recognized EvaMarie’s parents, even though they’d aged. Mrs. Hyatt was dressed for visitors. Mason would expect nothing less, though her silk shirt and carefully quaffed hair denoted a woman who hadn’t faced the reality of her situation.
The pearls were a nice touch though.
“What’s going on?” Daulton asked, his booming voice still carrying enough to echo slightly on the eardrums. “Clive, why are you here?”
The bank manager shook hands with the couple, then stepped back a bit to allow EvaMarie closer. Mason had thought he’d want to see this part, to witness the lowering of the high-and-mighty Hyatts. After all, they’d orchestrated the moment that had brought his own family’s downfall.
Yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to close in, to gain an angle that allowed him to see EvaMarie’s face as she gave her family the news that their lives were about to change. Afraid he was softening, he forced himself to stand tall, knees braced for the coming confrontation. He forced himself to remember how his father must have felt that day when he’d had to tell Mason and his brother that he was fired from the position he’d held for ten years at the insistence of Daulton Hyatt.
That hadn’t been pretty either.
“Mom, Dad, um.” EvaMarie’s voice was so soft Mason almost couldn’t hear it. Yet he could feel the vibration in his body. EvaMarie’s voice was unique—even huskier than it had been when she was young. She’d grown into a classic Kathleen Turner voice that Mason was going to completely and totally ignore. “The bank has sold the estate.”
Mrs. Hyatt’s gasp was quickly drowned beneath Daulton’s curse. “How is that possible?” he demanded. “Clive, explain yourself.”
“Daddy, you know how this happened—”
“Nonsense. Clive...”
“Corporate took this account out of our hands, Mr. Hyatt. There’s nothing I can do now.”
“Of course there is. What’s the point of knowing your banker if he can’t help you now and again?”
“Daddy.” At least EvaMarie had enough spirit to sound disapproving. “Clive has gone out of his way to help us on more than one occasion. We have to face that this is happening.”
“Nonsense. I’m not going anywhere.” A noise echoed through the room, like a cane banging on the wooden floor, though Mason couldn’t see for sure. “Besides, who could buy something so expensive that quick?”
Clive turned sideways, giving Daulton a view of Mason where he stood. “This is Mason Harrington from Tennessee. He and his brother started the purchase proceedings this morning.”
“Tennessee?” Daulton squinted in Mason’s direction. Mason could feel his pulse pick up speed. “Why would someone from Tennessee want an estate in Kentucky?”
Rolling with that rush of adrenaline, Mason took a few strides into the center of the room. “I’m looking forward to establishing my own racing stables, and the Hyatt estate is perfect for our purposes, in my opinion.”
Mason could see the realization of who he was as it dawned on Daulton’s face, followed quickly by a thunderous rage. He was proud to see this glorious, momentous thing that Mason himself had ignited.
“I know you,” Daulton growled, leaning forward in his chair despite his wife’s delicate hand on his bicep. “You’re that good-for-nothing stable boy who put your hands on my daughter.”
It was more than just my hands. Maybe he should keep that thought to himself. See, Kane, I do have control. “Actually, I am good for something...as a matter of fact, several...million...somethings...” That little bit of emphasis felt oh, so good. “And I’m no longer just a stable boy.”
Daulton turned his laser look on his daughter, who stepped back as if to hide. “I told you I would never allow a filthy Harrington in one of my beds. I’ll never let that happen.”
“Oh, I don’t need one of your beds,” Mason assured him. “I just bought a nice, expensive one of my own. I’ll just take the room it belongs in.”
“You aren’t getting it from me,” Daulton growled.
This time, Mason matched him tone for tone. “You sure about that?”
The other man’s eyes widened, showing the whites as he processed that this Harrington wasn’t a kid who was gonna meekly take his vitriol. “The likes of you could never handle these stables with success,” he bellowed. “You’ll fold in a year.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But that will be decided by me.” Satisfaction built inside as he said it, and he let a grin slip free. “Not you.”
He could tell by the red washing over Daulton’s face that he got Mason’s drift. The older man started to stand. Mason realized he was gripping the side of his chair with an unusually strong grip.
“Daulton,” his wife whispered in warning.
But the old man was too stirred up to heed her, if he even heard her in the first place. Mason felt his exultation at besting the monster of his dreams drain to dismay as Daulton took a step forward...then collapsed to the floor.
A cry rang out, maybe from EvaMarie’s mom. But everyone rushed forward except Mason, who stood frozen in confusion.
With Clive’s help, the women got Daulton turned over and sitting upright, though he was still on the floor. Mason studied the droop of the man’s head, even as his back remained turned to Mason.
Kneeling next to her father in dusty sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair thrown up into a messy bun, EvaMarie still had the look of a society princess when she glanced over at Mason. Her calm demeanor, cultivated through hours of cotillion classes, couldn’t have been more sphinxlike. “Could you excuse us for a moment, please?” she said quietly. She didn’t plead, but her gaze expected him to do as she asked.
He’d never been able to resist that dark blue, forget-me-not gaze, always so full of suppressed emotions that he wanted to mine.
Then she tilted her head in the direction of the door to the hallway. For once, he didn’t