Journey's End (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

After making a face at him, Caroline disappeared through a doorway. Wondering where she’d acquired the money to pay for such a luxurious suite of rooms, Jackson craned his neck to follow her every move. One problem with that—the maid shifted directly into his line of vision.

  He straightened in the chair and smiled up at her with an innocent expression.

  The girl pressed her lips together, clearly unmoved by his attempt to charm her.

  Jackson nearly laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so distrusted by not one but two females. Before he could decide whether to engage the maid in conversation, Caroline returned with a satchel in her hand.

  Jackson had no idea what she carried inside the bag, but he had deciphered enough from Richard’s instructions to know the contents were important to his business partner. Important enough to demand Caroline’s immediate return to the house tonight.

  “We may leave now.” Let us get this over with, her stiff posture seemed to say, as if she were weary and feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  How well he knew that sensation.

  He obediently rose from the chair, slid his hands in his pockets, and lowered his gaze across her. “Do I need to check for weapons before we depart?”

  “Don’t push me, Montgomery.”

  “Dispensing with the Mr.?”

  “Would you rather I call you . . . Jackson?”

  Amused by her tart tone, he thought for a moment and discovered that he actually preferred the irreverent name better. “Montgomery will do just fine, Caroline.” He angled his head. “Or would you prefer Miss St. James?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Caroline will do just fine.”

  “Good enough.” He swept his hand in a wide arc. “After you, Caroline.”

  She nodded, then turned to her maid. “I will be back soon. Please wait for my return.”

  Eyes gleaming with some silent message, the girl gave a short curtsy. “Very good, miss.”

  The ride back to Richard’s home was conducted in silence, each of them seemingly caught up in their own thoughts.

  For his part, Jackson considered the lack of conversation a blessing. He had much to think over, especially now that the lines had been drawn between him and Caroline.

  Every battle waged, whether in a courtroom or a boardroom or on Orchard Street, required careful planning and deliberation. He knew he was in for an interesting fight with Caroline St. James and wasn’t altogether sorry for it.

  He actually looked forward to their upcoming encounters. He hadn’t been challenged in a while, perhaps ever, at least not in the way this woman seemed capable of doing.

  His next course of action should be to gather information about his most worthy opponent. He knew just where to start.

  The tenement house on Orchard Street. Where he’d first met Caroline.

  Perhaps it was time he introduced himself to her dear friend, Mary.

  The carriage pulled to a halt. Again, Jackson exited first. He turned, only to discover Caroline had already bounded to the ground with her satchel clutched tightly to her chest.

  “Allow me to carry that for you.”

  The glower she shot him was answer enough. He lifted his hands in a show of surrender.

  Once inside the house, they were told by the butler that the elder Mr. St. James was waiting for them in his private study. Jackson fell into step beside Caroline, matching her step for step as he had earlier that evening.

  Annoyance wafted out of her. “I remember the way.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless”—he set his hand on her lower back—“my assignment was to keep you in my sight at all times.”

  She pulled to a stop.

  Jackson did the same.

  “Do you always do what you’re told?”

  “Always.” The answer came immediately.

  She had more to say. He could see it in the way her head angled to the side and how her brows drew together. Her gaze traveled over his face. For a moment, he felt completely exposed under her scrutiny. “Do you never wish to rebel?”

  “Never.” An absurd question. His father’s rebellion had ruined his mother, his family’s good name, and very nearly Jackson himself.

  “Not even in some small way, when no one is looking?”

  “No.” He felt his jaw clench tight. “Not even then, especially not then.”

  For an endless moment she blinked up at him. Slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. “Now, now, Montgomery.” She tapped him on the chin. “It’s not nice to lie, not even to yourself.”

  At that she continued up the stairs, the smile still playing across her lips.

  The words to defend himself were there, on his tongue, but he couldn’t get them past the hard, flat line of his lips. The woman was toying with him, subtly pushing him, poking at his self-control.

  Her questions had been simple enough, straightforward even. His answers just as candid. Yet he sensed she’d seen past his words, to the core of who he was deep down, a secret part of him he kept hidden from the world. And maybe even from himself, as Caroline had intimated with that aggravating smile on her lips.

  Before meeting Caroline, Jackson had always believed himself above reproach, above falling into mindless temptation. The thought that he was more like his father than he’d ever imagined made his gut roil. He must not falter.

  Take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

  A timely reminder.

  The woman was merely trying to throw him off guard, turning the fight toward his motives in order to avoid revealing hers.

  Clever, clever girl.

  Continuing up the stairs, Jackson quickened his pace and caught up to Caroline just outside Richard’s office.

  They entered together, shoulder to shoulder, neither taking their eyes off the man who rose from his desk. The life-size painting on his right caught Jackson’s eye. For years, he’d given the portrait little notice. He studied the painting more carefully now, understanding at once why Richard hadn’t questioned Caroline’s identity.

  And why she’d seemed so familiar at their first meeting.

  She was the very image of the woman in the painting. Her mother. Libby. Caroline was, indeed, a St. James by blood. Jackson had no more cause to doubt the truth of it. He’d never doubted, not truly. Her eyes had been too similar to Richard’s for him to deny the family connection.

  But Jackson had always thought Richard’s daughter had died in London years ago. The story had rarely been discussed in detail, not in this home or any other. If Caroline’s story was to be believed, Libby St. James had been left behind in a foreign country to raise her daughter alone on the mean London streets. For a moment, sympathy for Caroline overwhelmed him.

  Then came understanding.

  Followed quickly by alarm.

  He now knew the woman’s motive for journeying to America. She’d come to exact revenge for her mother.

  But how? How did she plan to do it?

  Jackson would find out soon enough. In the meantime, he said, “You won’t get away with this.”

  She rolled her shoulders, as if ridding herself of an unwanted pest, then spoke the two words he’d used on her earlier. “We’ll see.”

  Caroline had matched wits with some of the meanest minds in London with a relatively high rate of success. Her very survival proof enough. As such, she should be able to handle one pampered gentleman who, on the surface, was nothing more than her grandfather’s lapdog.

  Of course, Jackson Montgomery was no lackey. He was his own man, in charge of his own destiny. Smart, insightful, overly clever and, worst of all, honorable.

  She didn’t know how to battle a man who fought fiercely but without compromising his integrity. Maybe . . . yes, maybe that was the key. She would get the man to compromise his integrity.

  The thought didn’t sit well. If she successfully drove him to sink to such a low, what sort of person did that make her?

  Her grandfather came around his
desk, his gaze fastened on her satchel. “Is that them?”

  “Yes.” She handed over the canvas bag, making eye contact with her grandfather as she did. Her heart dropped at his haunted look.

  Was he telling the truth? Had he not received any of her mother’s letters?

  If not, then who had sent them back to London unopened?

  Another member of the family?

  The idea that a person in this household had wanted her mother to stay away, permanently—well, that was just sinister.

  It also meant her grandfather had been as much a victim as Caroline and her mother.

  Despite the scowl on his face, his hands shook as he flipped open the satchel’s flap. A wave of remorse swept through her.

  “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  He waved her suggestion away, but the moment he pulled out the first letter, he sank back against his desk.

  “Richard. Come. Sit here.” Taking charge of the situation, Montgomery took the old man’s arm and guided him to a nearby chair.

  So wrapped up was she in watching her grandfather that Caroline had nearly forgotten the other man was in the room with them. Witnessing the two together, she reevaluated the situation.

  Jackson Montgomery was more than a mere business partner. He cared about the other man. And her grandfather trusted him. Apparently, more than he trusted his own son since Montgomery was the one in this room and not Marcus St. James.

  After a short hesitation and a deep breath, her grandfather pulled out the batch of letters. He placed them in a neat stack on top of the canvas satchel and simply stared at the pile on his lap.

  Silence fell over the room as he traced a fingertip across the writing penned in her mother’s own hand.

  Caroline moved a step closer, impatience making her shift from foot to foot.

  A lady of unlimited means never fidgets; she remains perfectly still. Sally’s instructions flashed in her mind. Although she was no longer playing a part, Caroline stilled.

  Needing something to do with her hands, she clutched them together at her waist and sighed in frustration. She wanted to scream at her grandfather to get on with it.

  Seemingly as impatient as she, Montgomery reached out toward the stack. Her grandfather brushed his hand away, then opened the top letter, the one sent over twenty years ago.

  Caroline had made sure to organize them in chronological order.

  Tired eyes scanned across the page, her grandfather’s face devoid of all expression, or at least none that Caroline could make out. Turning over the letter, he continued to read. After a moment, he checked the postmark, then replaced the letter in its corresponding envelope and set it on a table beside him.

  The next letter received the same meticulous attention. He repeated the process over and over again until he came to the bottom of the stack.

  When he looked up at Caroline, tears shone in his eyes. Several slid down his cheeks. He made no attempt to wipe them away.

  Caroline’s mouth went dry, the salty taste of her own tears on her tongue. She’d sat across a poker table from every kind of player imaginable. She could spot a good bluff in record time.

  This old man was not bluffing.

  And she’d done that to him. She’d brought upon him this unspeakable pain. Revolted by her own behavior, she could no longer hold her own tears at bay. She swiped at her eyes before they spilled down her face.

  “Libby tried to contact me.” His voice was so full of pain that Caroline’s heart clutched. “I thought she ran off with that boy and never looked back. I never understood why. She was happy in this home. Her desertion never made sense.”

  Desertion. Her grandfather thought his daughter had run off with a man and abandoned her own family when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  “I have never seen these letters before tonight.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I had no idea she was in such desperate need. What she must have thought of my silence.”

  God help her, Caroline believed her grandfather’s sorrow. How well she knew that sort of unspeakable pain.

  Her breathing quickened, cutting off her ability to draw in a decent pull of air. She took short, painful gulps. Her skin iced over as wisps of dismay shot through her.

  She’d planned this night for months, expecting to meet a hard, ruthless man with no forgiveness in his heart. A man who deserved punishment. She’d told herself she’d come for justice for her mother, and maybe even for herself. But she knew the truth now. She’d come for revenge.

  Bile rose in her throat. She was a terrible, terrible person. One who deserved to be tossed out of this house.

  A sob rushed out of her.

  She dashed to her grandfather and collapsed at his feet. Placing her palms on his knees, she looked at him through her watery vision. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I thought you abandoned her, us. I came to America hating you.”

  Two strong hands, grizzled with age, covered hers and clasped gently. “What you must have suffered all these years.”

  The genuine kindness sent the tears spilling down her cheeks. “I . . . you should know why I really came here tonight. I came to make you pay for your sins.” Shame clogged the breath in her throat. “Forgive me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jackson didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in this room where a fractured family reunited after decades of lost communication and misunderstandings.

  No, not misunderstandings. That wasn’t the right term for the treachery that had kept a father from his daughter, and a granddaughter from knowing her family. The very same woman who had just begged for forgiveness from the man she’d come to make pay for his sins.

  Jackson believed Caroline’s remorse. He saw the way she trembled, even as she kept her shoulders stiff and unyielding. The latter was a sure sign she refused to let down her guard completely. He couldn’t blame her for that. Someone in this house had deliberately seized nearly three dozen letters addressed to Richard. But who?

  Who stood to gain from such a heinous act?

  Several people came to mind, all of them present this evening. Jackson would uncover the identity of the culprit.

  For Richard. And, perhaps, for Caroline as well.

  He owed her that much for his earlier suspicions. Although, as it turned out, he’d been right to suspect her motives. By her own admission, she’d come here to ruin Richard, her own grandfather.

  Jackson tried to drum up disapproval. He couldn’t.

  If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he understood the kind of anger that had driven her to seek revenge. Hadn’t he dealt with similar feelings when his father had first betrayed his family? Hadn’t he struggled against allowing his hurt to turn into hate through the years?

  Would Caroline find healing one day? Would she be able to forgive whoever had set out to harm her mother?

  Would Richard?

  The two were still holding hands, still speaking in splintered sentences, talking over one another. Both were equally emotional. Jackson couldn’t hear all the words passing between them and silently accepted that he wasn’t supposed to. He was intruding, but he wasn’t sure he should leave Richard alone with his granddaughter yet.

  Caroline St. James seemed genuinely remorseful. Jackson wanted to believe her reaction, more than he knew was wise. Someone had to keep a clear head. Someone had to remain impartial. And that someone was Jackson.

  First order of business, he had to prevent a scandal from igniting over Caroline’s sudden arrival. Not a simple task, but doable. Unless . . .

  What if she still sought revenge for her mother, if not on her grandfather, then on the one who had intercepted Libby’s letters? Would she destroy her own family in the process? News of her initial reason for coming to America would be enough fodder for the gossips.

  Jackson knew his duty. At this point, nothing should change. As before, he would keep a close eye on Caroline and reserve judgment pending further information.

/>   The letters were the best place to begin. He needed to get a look at them, perhaps study each of the postmarks. Where they’d originated was important, especially if he was going to keep word of this from getting out.

  For now, it was time to quit the room.

  Slowly, as quietly as possible, he took a step toward the exit. Richard looked up, a vague expression of surprise on his face. “Jackson, you are still here.”

  “I am just leaving. Is there anything you need before I depart?” He dropped his gaze to the stack of letters in Richard’s lap. “Anything, perhaps, you wish for me to look into for you?”

  He was tempted to be more specific but decided against the idea.

  “Not at the moment, no.” Richard’s hand flattened over the stack of letters. “Later, yes, but not now. Not tonight.”

  Jackson nodded. Before he turned to go, he glanced in Caroline’s direction. Her eyes, dark with emotion, met his. She looked so young, vulnerable, and unbearably innocent that his heart dipped in his chest. On some primitive level, he wanted to steal her away from this house, from these people who had caused her such pain.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Caroline?” He remembered the maid awaiting her return at the Waldorf-Astoria. “Anyone you wish for me to contact?”

  A thousand words passed between them, none of which he understood.

  She lowered her lashes and sighed. “Thank you, no.”

  “Very well.”

  Pivoting on his heel, he left the room without a backward glance. Alone in the hallway, he debated whether to wait until the two emerged or go in search of the rest of the family.

  There would be questions, most of which Jackson couldn’t answer. But they deserved to know Richard was safe in Caroline’s company.

  Decision made, he headed down the hallway. His steps slowed, then stopped altogether. Another second and reality set in. He’d come here tonight to begin his courtship of Elizabeth. He’d planned to make his intentions known, if not to the family, then to her.

  With all that had happened, Jackson couldn’t think about courting her now. Following hard on the heels of that thought came the memory of Caroline’s soulful eyes, eyes filled with sorrow and confusion.