Alice: Bride of Rhode Island (American Mail-Order Bride 13) by Kristy McCaffrey Page A

the upper hand with women.” But as he said the words, the truth hit him square in the face and he flinched.
    Dammit.
    He had most definitely taken advantage of Alice. He was no better than Daniel Endicott.
    “You’re telling me you’ve not influenced Alice in any way?”
    “She’s not compromised.”
    Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying her virtue is still intact?”
    This really wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Daniel Endicott. “At least I didn’t try to marry her off to preserve her inheritance.”
    “And what inheritance would that be?” Endicott pursed his lips. “You’re not getting a dime from me, Martel.”
    “You just offered me $25,000.”
    “That deal is no longer on the table.”
    James temper was wearing thin. “You know what you did to my father. You will answer for it.”
    Recognition registered on Daniel’s face. “Is that what this is about? Son, you’re sorely misguided. Business is business. Jean Martel knew that. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m sorry that you feel this way. What is unconscionable is that you would use my daughter in your supposed vendetta.”
    “Alice is safe with me. I’ll take care of her.”
    Daniel shook his head. “Empty promises in my book.”
    “As I see it, you wrote the rule book on empty promises, Endicott.”
    And with that, James walked out.

 
    Chapter Eighteen
     
     
    A lice stepped from the buggy beneath a hazy sky at the entrance to the cemetery in Newport, her bonnet shielding her face from the brisk wind. She resettled the skirt of the sea-blue walking dress then turned to the driver. “Please wait.”
    She knew the location of Gavin Harrington’s gravesite, having visited it many times with her mother that first year after he passed. But when her mother had died, she’d stopped coming. Daniel Endicott hadn’t buried Hazel Harrington Endicott here—something Alice had argued to no avail. She’d only been fifteen years old. Afterwards, she’d begun to feel despair and had railed against her own father for leaving her. She had ceased to pay her respects at that point.
    She meant to change that today.
    Bundling herself into her wool coat and hand muff, she walked to the end of the road and turned right, passing rows of headstones. The somber atmosphere cloaked Alice and the finality of losing both her parents seized her. How she wished they still lived.
    She spied an older woman in the distance near the Harrington grave. Before Alice could advance farther, the woman climbed into a nearby carriage, and it promptly departed.
    Alice rushed to a cemetery worker. “Pardon me, would you happen to know who that woman is?”
    The man nodded. “That would be Mrs. Harrington.”
    Alice gasped. Her father’s mother. She couldn’t ignore the coincidence. “Thank you so much.”
    She returned to her driver and inquired how to find Edith Harrington’s home. The driver didn’t know, but he asked around and, more than an hour later, pulled up to a modest home on a quiet side street.
    Alice climbed the steps and rang the bell. A butler appeared.
    “Is Mrs. Harrington in residence?”
    “May I say who is calling?”
    “Mrs. Alice Martel. I’m an old friend.”
    He opened the door and let Alice into the foyer, then departed.
    The butler returned. “Mrs. Harrington isn’t acquainted with you.”
    “I know, but it’s important that I speak with her. I’m...her granddaughter.”
    He left her once again and Alice stood alone. Finally, the man reappeared and ushered her into a drawing room. Alice removed her bonnet but remained standing. The furnishings were simple and well-worn. It was another several long minutes before Edith Harrington appeared.
    The elderly woman stared at Alice, her green eyes shining from a face well covered in wrinkles.
    “Hello, grandmother. I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion.”
    “I thought the butler was lying, but you look too much like your mother for it to be otherwise.” Mrs. Harrington