Carolina Moon

however tenuous it is, with the person I hold responsible for her death.”
    “Maybe it’s out of respect for my sister that I’ve made this connection. You never could stand her,” Faith said conversationally. “I took your lead there, I suppose. You would have forbidden Hope to associate with her, but you could never really bring yourself to forbid Hope anything. And if you did, she got around you. She was infinitely more clever than I in that area.”
    “Don’t speak of my daughter in that manner.”
    “Yes, your daughter.” Now the brittle tone reflected in her eyes. “Something I never quite managed to be. Here’s something you may never have considered. Tory isn’t responsible for what happened to Hope, but she may very well be the key to it. It might bring you comfort to remember Hope as a bright light, as a life cut off before it really lived. It would bring me more comfort to finally know why. And know who.”
    “You won’t find your comfort, or your answers, with that woman. You’ll only find lies. Her whole life is a lie.”
    “Well then.” With a bright smile, Faith got to her feet. “Just gives us one more thing in common, doesn’t it?”
    She walked away, putting a swagger in her step.
    Margaret got immediately to her feet, walked quickly out and into the library with its towers of books and ornately plastered ceiling. She made the call first, tugging on the strings of friendship to request that Gerald Purcell come to her as soon as possible.
    Assured he would make the trip within the hour, she walked to the safe secreted behind an oil painting of Beaux Reves and took out two folders.
    She would use the hour to study the paperwork and prepare.
    Shortly, she ordered tea to be served on the south terrace, along with scones and the frosted cakes she knew Gerald had a weakness for. She enjoyed the ritual in the afternoons when she was at home, the china, the silver, the precisely cut wedges of lemon, the mix of brown and white sugar cubes in the bowl.
    As long as she was mistress of this house, she thought, it was a ritual that would be preserved. Beaux Reves, and all it stood for, would be preserved.
    It was warm for tea alfresco, but the white umbrella offered shade, and the gardens provided what Margaret considered the appropriate backdrop. The tree roses that flanked the brick in their giant white pots were heavy with bloom, and her hibiscus added an exotic touch with their crimson trumpets.
    She sat at the rippled glass table, hands folded, and looked out over what was hers. She had worked for it, nurtured it, and now, as always, she would protect it.
    She glanced over as Gerald came through the terrace doors. He’d roast in the suit and tie, she thought idly, as she lifted a hand to his.
    “I appreciate your coming so quickly. You’ll have some tea?”
    “That would be lovely. You sounded troubled, Margaret.”
    “I am troubled.” But her hand was rock steady as she lifted the Wedgwood teapot and poured. “It concerns my children, and Beaux Reves itself. You were Jasper’s attorney, so you understand the disposition of the farm, the properties, the interests of this family, as well as any of us. Better perhaps.”
    “Of course.” He sat beside her, pleased that she remembered he preferred lemon to milk.
    “Controlling interest in the farm was passed to Kincade. Seventy percent. That holds true for the factories, the mill as well. I hold twenty percent, and Faith ten.”
    “That’s correct. The profits are divided and dispersed annually.”
    “I’m aware of that. The properties, such as our interest in the apartment buildings, the houses that are rented, including the Marsh House, are in all three names, equally. Is that also correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “And, in your opinion, what impact would it have on Cade’s changes to the farm, his new operating system, if I withdrew my support, used my twenty percent and my influence with the board to sway them back toward more traditional methods.”
    “It would cause him considerable difficulty, Margaret. But his weight is heavier than yours, and the profits add to his end of the scale. The board has no say in the farm in any case, just the mill and the factories.”
    She nodded. “And the mill, the factories, help keep the farm running. If I were able to persuade Faith to add her interest to mine?”
    “That would give you more ammunition, certainly.” He sipped his tea, pondered. “Might I ask, as your friend and your