Journey's End (Gilded Promises)
Page 5
Steeling herself, she continued to read in a low, staggering voice that hitched over every other word. “Dressed in a gossamer gown of layers upon layers of white silk, Miss St. James was, as always, the most attractive, accomplished young woman in the theater.”
Attractive. Accomplished. Caroline felt the breath leave her lungs. Yet she read on. “Considered the most popular girl in social and musical circles across the city, Elizabeth had her trademark blonde curls swept up in a classic chignon, offsetting her deep blue eyes that have caused many a male to spout poetry in her presence.”
This time it was not jealousy that washed through Caroline but a sense of unfairness. While this nineteen-year-old girl had been enjoying trips to the opera and the theater, Caroline had been scraping for the barest of existences, with the fear of starvation driving her every decision.
The blood rushed from her head, making her dizzy. The emotions raging inside her—hurt, longing, loneliness—were so strong, so powerful she bent over in response. She rested her forehead on the table, overwhelmed and heartsick. How could she ever pull this off? How could she waltz into parties and pretend she didn’t know who these people were?
No. No. Caroline refused to give up when she’d come this far. No sentiment allowed. And definitely no crying.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and breathed in slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
Back in control, she sat up and continued reading. She skimmed over the list of occupants in the St. James private box, completely uninterested, until she came upon another familiar name.
A gasp sputtered past her lips. “Among the other patrons in attendance was longtime family friend and St. James business partner Mr. Jackson Montgomery.”
Montgomery? Caroline’s pulse leapt. Could this Jackson Montgomery be the same Mr. Montgomery she’d met on Orchard Street?
Surely not. Most certainly this was a mere coincidence. Her Mr. Montgomery owned tenement houses, while there’d never been any mention of Richard St. James owning that type of building.
Besides, Montgomery was a common enough name. Although . . . Caroline had to admit that the man she’d met on the street that morning would fit in her grandfather’s world.
Slowly, resolutely, Caroline read on. “It is believed a match between Mr. Montgomery and Miss St. James is in the making. Will a spring wedding be in order for this fashionable couple?”
Goose bumps rose along Caroline’s arms, and her scalp began to tingle. What were the odds? What were the odds? She did the math in her head, calculating all the variables, coming up with a disastrous answer.
Resigned, yet determined to be thorough in her fact gathering, she flipped through the other newspapers the librarian had left for her. This time she searched for the name Jackson Montgomery.
She came across no fewer than three other stories speculating on the “event about to take place” between the handsome Mr. Montgomery, a young man of excellent standing, and the pretty Miss St. James, a most worthy match for the gentleman.
Caroline waited for some feeling to emerge. Nothing but a cold emptiness swept through her.
What did it matter if Jackson Montgomery was the same man she’d spoken with this morning? This bit of information changed nothing. In truth, Caroline should consider herself fortunate to have discovered the possibility of Montgomery’s connection to her grandfather—and cousin—before she worked her way into their world.
Forewarned is forearmed—one of the hardest lessons she’d learned on the London streets.
After reading through each newspaper again, this time more slowly, Caroline decided she had enough information to put her plan into motion. She knew all the names of the important people of New York, who was in town, and who had traveled to the Continent for an extended stay or honeymoon.
The latter was her best option for infiltrating the upper echelons of New York society as quickly as possible. Caroline St. James was about to become Caroline Harding, a distant cousin of the newly married Patricia Harding of Boston, Massachusetts. Patricia had met and married Malcolm Green of Seventy-Second Street in a whirlwind romance. The couple just so happened to be on their lengthy honeymoon in Europe and had encouraged Patricia’s British cousin, Caroline, to visit America.
A handful of chance meetings with the right people at the opera and theater, all carefully played on her part, would eventually lead to advantageous invitations to parties and soirees in the finest homes. After a while, Caroline would be accepted as one of them.
Only then would Richard St. James meet his other granddaughter, the one he’d abandoned to a life of hardship and despair. The old man would never be the same. That much, Caroline could guarantee.
Chapter Five
Two and a half weeks after his latest encounter with Caroline of Orchard Street, Jackson arrived at Warren Griffin’s home, determined to put the woman where she properly belonged. In the past. Rolling the tension out of his shoulders, he focused on the brownstone mansion with serious intent. To no avail.
Memories of the beautiful immigrant and her dry sense of humor attacked his mind. She’d made him laugh, and by doing so, she’d helped him forget, if only momentarily, why he had to keep himself under control at all times, why his behavior had to be above reproach, no matter the circumstance.
An odd sensation—part longing, part confusion—sent his pulse racing, his head spinning in turmoil. A secret, uncontrollable portion of his soul, the part he’d ruthlessly suppressed for most of his life, wanted to forego tonight’s dinner party and return to Orchard Street.
Jackson cursed himself for the direction of his thoughts. Nothing must be allowed to propel him off the course he’d set for his life. Tonight, his attention belonged to another woman, the only woman who should ever be allowed in his mind.
At that reminder, certainty took hold. After his meeting with Warren Griffin, Jackson would be free to take the next step in his future. Marriage. To a suitable, proper young woman from one of the finest families in New York.
His engagement to Elizabeth St. James would be the ultimate symbol of all his hard work, the final proof that he’d restored respectability to the Montgomery name.
Jackson braced for a wave of satisfaction but experienced only a hollow, empty feeling. Where was the sense of completion, the pleasure of fulfillment, the glory that came with knowing his father’s shame could no longer hurt him or anyone else in his family?
An image of long dark hair and sea-green eyes swept across his mind. His gut knotted. Even now, the wrong woman crowded his thoughts. Dangerous territory.
He must remember why he’d chosen Elizabeth St. James to become his future bride. She was more than the embodiment of kindness, compassion, and Christian charity. She was his friend, a woman who shared his outrage over the conditions of his tenement houses.
Elizabeth would make a perfect wife, he reminded himself, as if thinking it over and over again would make it true. She was sweet and proper and represented everything good in their world. Even knowing all this, a part of him still wanted . . . wanted . . .
Jackson swallowed back the rest of the thought. Jaw set rigidly, he stalked up the stone steps and knocked with authority.
The moment the door swung open, Jackson crossed the threshold with confidence and nodded to the Griffin family butler of twenty years. “Good evening, Winterbotham.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” The man sketched a short, elegant bow and then accepted Jackson’s hat and gloves. “Mr. Griffin is waiting for you in his study.”
“Thank you, I know my way.”
Jackson fought the urge to rush his steps. An edge of impatience churned in his stomach as his heels struck the marble like hammers on nails. The sound reverberated against the wood-paneled hallway. He wanted this debt settled; only then would he be free of his father’s bad choices and able to make an offer for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.
As he entered Warren Griffin’s private study, the older man rose from behind his desk and strode toward him with a
genuine smile cracking his weathered face. “Ah, Jackson, here you are at last.”
Jackson took the offered hand, smiling cautiously at his father’s most trusted friend and ally. There’d been a time when Edward Montgomery had been far richer than the man shaking Jackson’s hand. In fact, Warren Griffin’s fledgling shipping empire—now one of the largest in the world—had been initially funded by Montgomery family money.
Unfortunately, for every wise investment Jackson’s father had made as a young man, three bad ones soon followed. By the time he’d fled the country, Edward Montgomery had lost most of his inherited wealth. He’d also left Jackson with the humbling task of paying back his considerable debts. Tonight’s payment to Warren Griffin was the last of them.
Freedom was one bank draft away.
Impatience surged once again. Jackson dropped his hand to his side and forced a calm in his voice he didn’t especially feel. “I would have been here sooner, sir, but I was unavoidably detained at the office.”
“Understandable, my boy.” Before Jackson could respond, the older man motioned to his left. “I believe you know my son, Lucian.”
Surprised, Jackson spun on his heel to face the other occupant in the room. A host of boyhood memories lurked below the surface, ready to spill forth. Quickly switching his mind’s focus, Jackson shot out his hand once again. “Luke, it’s been too long. I hadn’t heard you were back in New York.”
“I only arrived this morning.” With a wry grin, Luke strode forward, clasped Jackson’s hand, and gave a quick, hard shake. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“And you.”
Although Luke’s addition to the party tonight meant Jackson had to rethink his strategy with Elizabeth, he was truly glad to see his old friend.
Luke’s blond hair had darkened over the years, and smile lines now appeared around his eyes. The man had barely aged since they’d attended Harvard together. Luke had been an excellent student and loyal friend to Jackson—dedicated, strong-minded, and honorable. When Luke had left for London to take over the British branch of his family’s shipping business, Jackson had been sorry to see him go.
He was only now realizing just how much. He’d missed their friendship. Luke had been one of the few members of society who hadn’t cared what Jackson’s father had done, or why.
“What brings you back to New York?” Jackson asked, silently calculating the years since his friend’s departure. Three. Three full years had passed.
“I’m here to attend to . . . family business.”
Jackson heard something behind the casually spoken words, noticed how Luke and his father exchanged uneasy looks. Watching the odd exchange, Jackson was reminded of the day Luke left. There’d been something in the way his friend had looked, sorrowful and full of regret, yet tight-lipped and uncommunicative. “Luke, I’ve always wondered—”
“Enough about me.” Luke gave a short laugh, his words sufficiently deflecting an in-depth conversation about himself. “Tell me about you, my friend. Are you still working alongside Richard St. James?”
“I am.”
“The old man treating you well?”
“Better than well. We have a strong working relationship and see eye to eye when it comes to our shared business interests. I find Richard’s advice spot-on in most cases, and he respects my legal background enough to turn to me before he signs any contract.”
Jackson also offered insight into other legal matters, but he deferred to practicing attorneys when the situation warranted a more careful review.
“Sounds like your father’s partnership with St. James is turning out to be more beneficial for you than it ever was for him.”
“In more ways than I can explain.” Jackson had taken over his father’s partnership with Richard St. James immediately following the day he’d graduated from Harvard. Armed with a shiny new law degree, Jackson had quickly discovered he preferred conducting business transactions and taking calculated risks to arguing in the courtroom.
Through the years, the patriarch of the St. James family had become more than a partner in their shared ventures. He was the father Jackson had never had and always wanted. He owed much to Richard St. James, more than he could ever repay. He would consider it a great honor to call the man family.
If Elizabeth said yes, Jackson would get his wish.
At Luke’s insistence, they discussed Jackson’s investments in greater detail. He expanded on his railroad enterprise and his newer interest in steel, as well as his unexpected foray into real estate on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. When the conversation circled to Luke’s life in London, his friend’s brows dropped down tightly over his eyes, and his lips clamped into a thin, hard line.
An awkward silence followed.
Warren Griffin cleared his throat. “I see the hour grows late. We should join the others before our absence is noted.”
Both Griffins seemed in a hurry to quit the room, their clipped steps equally quick. Jackson followed more slowly.
Not until they were at the doorway did he remember the reason for this meeting. “Mr. Griffin, about that transaction I came to make—”
“After the party, Jackson.” The older man rested a hand on his shoulder. “It can wait until after the party.”
“But I have the bank draft here in my—”
“I promise, my boy, we’ll get on with our other business before the night is through.”
Though he’d have preferred to settle matters now, Jackson knew better than to force the issue at this point. “Good enough, sir.”
What did it matter if they took care of business now or at the end of the evening? The important thing was that Jackson’s future would soon be his own. No more family scandal hanging over his head. No more financial obligations left for him to sort out. After tonight, his decisions would involve only what he wanted. And what he didn’t want.
Swallowing his impatience, Jackson threw back his shoulders and exited the room a step behind the Griffin men.
Just a few more hours, he reminded himself. After all these years of cleaning up his father’s messes, he could endure. Another. Few. Hours.
Luke and his father entered the drawing room ahead of Jackson. Luke’s broad shoulders blocked Jackson’s view of the room. Ignoring the other guests, Jackson maneuvered around his old friend, locked eyes on the woman he would officially begin courting tonight, and crossed the room to her.
He was aware of conversations continuing around him, but he didn’t alter his pursuit. Ahead of him was his future, the only reason he’d agreed to attend this party.
His heart beat slow and steady. His breath remained perfectly even.
Odd.
Where was the anticipation he was supposed to feel? He continued across the room to where Elizabeth stood near the marble mantelpiece.
His future bride had arranged her hair in a soft pile of golden curls atop her head. Her face held an expression of tranquility, making her seem distant, untouchable, as though she were a fairy-tale princess waiting patiently for her prince to arrive.
Jackson swallowed. No denying the girl was beautiful and elegant, almost too perfect to be real. When he took her hand in his, he braced for the excited kick in his gut.
None came. He felt only a vague sense of unease that left him feeling . . . slightly . . . unfulfilled.
This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed this lack of passion for his future bride, but this was the first time he’d been left feeling uneasy about it.
Why had he never longed for Elizabeth? Why had he not lain awake at night anxious to make her his bride?
As though she could read his mind, Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted regally above her cornflower-blue eyes.
Strangely disconnected from the moment, Jackson released her hand and stepped back. “Elizabeth, you are looking exceedingly lovely this evening.”
He hated that he had to remind himself again and again and again that this solid, predictable woman was his perfect mate.
Why was he only noticing this now?
“It is always a pleasure to see you, Jackson.”
Her voice held no enthusiasm.
They were like two strangers, only just meeting, when nothing could be further from the truth. They’d known each other since Elizabeth was still in the schoolroom and before Jackson’s family had fallen into ruin.
He kept his gaze on her exquisite face, willing his heart to beat faster in her presence.
“Jackson, I don’t believe you’ve met my new friend, Caroline. Caroline”—Elizabeth gestured someone forward—“this is Jackson Montgomery, an old friend of the family. Jackson, this is my friend Caroline Harding.”
The name brought him up short, but he kept his eyes firmly on his intended.
“Jackson.” Elizabeth angled her head. “Did you hear me?”
He shook his head, swallowed back a wave of foreboding. “Yes, you have made a new friend.”
A rustle of silk captured his attention. He swiveled his head in the direction of the noise and froze.
He felt a physical blow in his gut. It was her. The woman from Orchard Street. Caroline. His Caroline.
Unable to look away, he stared in muted astonishment. Her beauty left him momentarily speechless. The dark hair, the creamy color of her skin, the bold blue of her dress—Caroline Harding was . . . she was stunning this evening.
And those eyes. Those eyes. They were as vibrant and green as he remembered. Tonight, they also held a sliver of distrust in them, and a hint of hostility.
Interesting.
“Mr. Montgomery,” she said in that distinctive British accent of hers that had stuck with him since their previous meeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
So she was going to pretend they’d never met. Her voice was low, youthful, yet rich in tone, almost musical.
Something about the way she looked at him drew him forward, toward her, enticing him to destroy all remnants of the civilized, honorable man he’d worked so hard to become. No wonder. The woman was a complete and total fraud.