There were two tiers of flagstone terraces built into the cliffside that descended toward the shore. An elegant white gazebo stood on the far side of the upper terrace where the headwaiter conferred with Uncle Oscar, their heads together as they spoke. Oscar’s face was grim, his mouth a hard line as he listened to whatever the waiter told him.
Oscar looked up and caught Patrick staring. The older man’s eyes hardened as he began stalking straight toward them, his face darkened in anger.
“Good heavens, Oscar,” Aunt Helen said. “You look like you just swallowed a wasp.”
Oscar ignored the older woman and glared at Liam. “What’s this I hear about Frederick’s butler carrying a legal agreement to the bank this morning?”
“That’s right,” Liam said, but Patrick intervened, hoping to stop the younger man from saying anything more. Why couldn’t Liam ever control himself?
“Perhaps we can speak about it later in private,” Patrick suggested to Oscar, but Liam cut him off.
“Everyone is going to learn about it eventually.” Liam turned back to Oscar. “You may as well know that Frederick has assigned Theodore’s votes in the bank’s business back to me.”
An audible gasp could be heard from the aunts and other assorted cousins gathered around. Natalia looked furious, but Oscar’s face showed no emotion other than the clenching of his jaw.
“Why on earth would Frederick do such a thing?” one of the aunts asked.
“Because those votes are rightfully mine,” Liam said. “Patrick found the rule buried in the bank’s operating agreement that lets me have those votes back, and Frederick agreed.”
Oscar’s contempt was ferocious. “He’s doing it because he’s using you. He’ll have you in his back pocket, which means he’s managed to increase his control in the bank from thirty to forty percent.”
Patrick stepped in before Liam could retaliate. Liam’s impulses could flash into a conflagration if not controlled. Patrick strove for a calm voice. “Your father transferred the shares in a legal fashion. Liam is under no obligation to parrot Frederick’s vote.”
Oscar turned his ire on Patrick. “Liam is my father’s pawn, but you’re worse. You’re just a paid lackey. If Frederick ordered you to go polish his shoes, you’d scurry to do so.”
Patrick blanched, but before he could respond, Liam drew his fist back to throw a punch at Oscar’s jaw.
With a lightning-fast reflex, Patrick stuck his hand out to intercept the punch. Pain shot up his arm because Liam’s fist had hit his bad hand and barely healed fingers. He howled, dizzy with pain, and curled over his hand.
“You broke my fingers again, Liam,” he managed to choke out.
The old aunts clucked in horror, and Liam looked aghast.
Gwen swooped in to hover over him. “Should we send for a doctor?” she asked in a panicked voice.
Patrick’s vision cleared, and the pain began fading. He had to hold this together. He’d taken punches before and knew how to handle pain. Liam’s punch had landed in the center of his palm, and despite the quick rush of agony, his fingers would probably be okay. He managed to straighten his spine and cast a surly look at Oscar, who had the grace to look mortified after being saved from a well-deserved decking by a man he despised.
“I’m okay,” he said, still glaring at Oscar.
Liam looked ready to keel over in regret. “I’m sorry, Patrick! I don’t mind if you want to punch my lights out for that.”
Patrick swallowed back a sigh. “Let’s all lower the temperature, okay?”
Oscar’s insult was forgotten as a servant went to get ice for his hand and the old aunts started fussing over him. One of them guided him to a wicker chair, and Bertie praised his quick reflexes. Oscar suddenly decided to fetch a glass of punch on the lower terrace.
Patrick watched him go, silently stewing. He’d known he would have to endure some slings and arrows on his road to winning Gwen, but Oscar’s unprovoked insult was a surprise. He thought about it all during the preparations for lunch as servants set the picnic tables and brought trays of food down for the family.
Oscar’s ridicule was badly done on a number of fronts. It stirred sympathy among the aunts, but most importantly, it strengthened Patrick’s resolve to get Liam on the board of the bank to give Oscar some real competition.
Gwen had been mortified by Oscar’s attack on Patrick. Most of her cousins hadn’t witnessed the incident, but word spread quickly. They cast furtive glances at Patrick and Liam during lunch, but few offered to join them at the table.
It was obvious Gwen needed to do a better job preparing the ground among her family. They didn’t need to fall over themselves with love for Patrick, but she wouldn’t tolerate outright rudeness.
After lunch, most of the third generation went down to the beach for a round of horseshoes. After settling Liam and Patrick in with her aunt Martha, Gwen headed down to join the cousins. Wind pulled at her hair, and she hiked up her skirt with a single hand while trekking down the steep hillside to the beach.
Her cousin Joshua, a lanky, athletic man who was studying art at Yale, had teamed up with Natalia, while Cousin Mildred instructed her daughter Penelope-Arabella on the proper way to toss the horseshoe. A trio of other cousins awaited their turn, but everyone stopped the moment Gwen approached.
“Gwen, are you sure that man is really poor Willy?” Mildred asked. “I imagine there are hundreds of men who have a scar on the bottom of their foot. It shouldn’t mean anything.”
“He’s a dead ringer for Theodore,” Natalia pointed out.
“Theodore never scowled like that man does,” Mildred said with a critical glance at the upper terrace, where Liam still sat with the aunts. “I can’t put my finger on it. He seems so crude. Raw. I don’t like the way he walks.”
Gwen raised a brow. “With one foot in front of the other?”
“Yes, but he does it crudely. He lumbers, like he is in a hurry. I should think a man of good breeding would walk in a refined manner. He would glide.”
“I know how to glide,” Penelope-Arabella interjected, but Mildred shot a glare to silence her daughter.
Despite Gwen’s intentions to defend Patrick, it seemed Liam was the only person they wanted to discuss.
“How are we going to explain him to the rest of the world?” Mildred asked. “Are we supposed to actually socialize with him?”
“I will take the lead in introducing Liam to society,” Gwen said. “And I will do so proudly.”
“What about the ten percent of the voting shares?” Edwin asked. “Is Frederick really going to let Liam have them? Ten percent?”
Joshua shifted in discomfort. “It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve been a member of this family for twenty-one years, and all I’ve got is one percent.”
“Cry me a river of tears,” Natalia said. “You dabble in watercolors, but I’ve been working at the bank for the past ten years, and I don’t get a single share.”
“Art is every bit as hard as your finance work,” Joshua shot back. “Watercolors are the most unforgiving medium in the entire art world. Everyone knows that. And I still don’t think it’s fair that Liam gets ten percent right off the bat.”