Journey's End (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

  Something deep within him shifted away from Elizabeth and moved toward Caroline.

  No.

  No.

  “I want Elizabeth,” he muttered. She was his perfect match, the woman destined to bear his children one day.

  And yet . . . the image didn’t fit so well tonight.

  Had it ever?

  Holding back a growl, he caught sight of the St. James butler waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase.

  Jackson took a moment to clear his thoughts, but only a moment, then finished his descent and paused beside the stiff-backed servant.

  “The guests are awaiting you in the dining room, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Somewhat surprised at this, Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Your grandmother and mother arrived not long after Mr. Griffin. When it became clear that not all of your party would be joining the others, your grandmother took charge of the situation.”

  At this bit of information, Jackson couldn’t hold back a smile. Of course his grandmother had taken charge. Even though it wasn’t her place and this wasn’t her home, Hattie Montgomery would have assessed the situation, taken note of the tension among the St. James family, and then done what needed to be done.

  “Will you be joining the rest of your party in the dining room, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Yes, thank you, Aldrich. I know the way.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Quickening his steps, Jackson found himself looking forward to his grandmother’s calming presence. Once a great beauty, Hattie Montgomery still possessed a grand style and sophisticated elegance that suited her eighty-seven years. She knew her own mind, never caring what others thought of her or her family, not even at the height of the scandal regarding her son’s behavior. Jackson had tried to emulate her response through the years.

  He entered the dining room, and all eyes turned in his direction. All eyes, that was, except those belonging to Elizabeth and Luke. They had their heads bent together and were embroiled in a low, hushed conversation.

  Jackson wasn’t sure what to think of that. Was he jealous?

  Oddly enough, no.

  “Sit down, Jackson, you have missed the first three courses already.” His mother’s voice held unmistakable censure.

  Glancing at Lucille Montgomery’s pursed lips and dark, angry eyes, Jackson had the sensation of being caught in the path of a coiled viper. Uncharacteristic rebellion rose up fast and hard.

  “I was unavoidably detained.” He did not elaborate.

  Clearly shocked at his cold response, his mother opened her mouth, probably to express her disapproval, but his grandmother spoke over her. “Do sit down, my boy.”

  Moving deeper into the room, he took in the rest of the guests. His grandmother presided at the head of the table. Marcus and his wife, Katherine, sat on her right. Because Luke had taken Jackson’s customary seat beside Elizabeth on Hattie’s left, he chose the empty chair beside his mother.

  Elizabeth looked up when he sat. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion. Jackson had never seen the girl quite so animated.

  “Is it true?” she asked in a rush, her usual calm serenity replaced with untold excitement. “Is Caroline Harding my cousin?”

  He saw no reason to withhold the truth from her now. After the reunion he’d witnessed upstairs, Jackson had no doubt Richard would immediately bring Caroline into the family fold. “Yes, she is.”

  “Oh. Oh. I have a cousin. Not as good as a sister, but wonderful all the same.” Elizabeth clapped her hands together happily, then set her gaze on the doorway. “Where is she? Isn’t she joining us?”

  “And more to the point,” Katherine said, her gaze secured to the doors as well, “is Richard joining us?”

  “Yes, son,” his own mother chimed in, her interest inappropriate since this was a family matter. A St. James family matter. “Where is Richard this evening? This was supposed to be his party.”

  Before Jackson could answer, Marcus added his own question. “Do we know the girl is who she says she is?”

  “Yes.” Jackson nodded. This question was the easiest to answer. “She has proof.”

  “Oh, how exciting. What sort of proof?” Elizabeth asked, her eager, wide-eyed gaze full of harmless curiosity. At least one person in this house would openly welcome Caroline into the family. The knowledge had Jackson breathing easier.

  “I’ll let Richard fill you in on the details when it is only family in attendance.” Temper primed, he looked pointedly at his mother, willing her to keep from engaging in the discussion any further.

  He could see her mind working and knew what she was thinking. The return of a long-lost granddaughter would be the talk of town. The news would spread quickly. If not handled correctly, the rumors could turn nasty. All the more reason to withhold Caroline’s original intent for coming to America, even from her own family. Especially from her own family.

  Best only he and Richard knew the truth.

  Dinner continued into the next course. Speculation at the table heated up, centering on what Caroline and Richard could possibly be discussing in private.

  Jackson gave nothing away. The story was not his to tell.

  After dessert, the party congregated back in the blue drawing room. Jackson joined the other guests. He would have preferred to seek out Caroline and Richard, but he knew the others in this room were waiting for their return as well. Jackson couldn’t predict how the meeting between grandfather and granddaughter would play out.

  For Richard’s sake, Jackson needed to be in attendance for whatever happened next.

  Luke settled in a seat between Marcus and Jackson’s grandmother. Ever the loyal friend, he proceeded to regale the room with tales from his time in London.

  Elizabeth stopped him halfway through the first story. “Did you happen to meet Caroline in London?”

  “No.” Luke glanced at Jackson a moment. “But I was there primarily to work. I didn’t attend many parties.”

  “But when you did,” Elizabeth pressed, “you mean to say you never met my cousin?”

  Feeling oddly protective of Caroline, Jackson opened his mouth to redirect the conversation. Luke changed the subject on his own.

  Grateful that his friend controlled the conversation, Jackson moved to the other side of the room. Lost in thought, he placed a foot on the hearth and leaned his forearm on the mantelpiece.

  He didn’t have long to enjoy his moment of peace before his mother joined him. She stood ramrod straight and had the familiar pinch to her face.

  He braced himself.

  “The news of Richard’s granddaughter should cause quite a stir among our friends, especially since she didn’t reveal her connection when she first arrived in this country.” A distorted smile spread across her lips. “One has to assume there is a reason she withheld her identity, and not a good one.”

  Jackson said nothing. What could he say? His mother was correct. On all accounts. And if a tale was scandalous enough—which this one most definitely was—then the good people of New York would take their time dissecting every sordid detail. Conclusions would be drawn, none of them good, most of them wrong.

  Ugly twists would then be added, especially if word got out about the intercepted letters. Caroline would be rejected from every respectable home in New York before she’d had a chance to prove herself. The unfairness was not lost on Jackson. Someone in this room had deliberately destroyed Libby St. James, and consequently Caroline.

  His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts again. “If this does get out”—she drew in a harsh breath—“the St. James name will never be the same.”

  Yes, Jackson knew this, too, and silently vowed to do whatever was necessary to prevent such a disaster from occurring.

  “You do realize, son,” his mother said, glancing over her shoulder, “that dear Elizabeth, the poor girl, will not come away unscathed.”

  Hours ago, Jackson would have railed against the injustice of choosing a r
espectable woman to wed, only to lose her to the very sort of scandal he’d set out to avoid. Of course, that was before he’d witnessed Richard’s sorrow over the fate of his daughter. Not to mention his corresponding joy over having regained a portion of her in the form of his granddaughter.

  Under the circumstances, there was only one thing for Jackson to do. Protect the St. James family from censure. Not for himself or his own gain, but for the man who had always accepted him in this home. From the start, in those early days after Jackson’s father had left town, Richard St. James had shown the rest of society what true grace looked like.

  It was Jackson’s turn to do the same.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caroline shifted her stance, watching silently as her grandfather directed a servant to a table near the bookshelves in his study. While the man set down a tray laden with plates of steaming food, Caroline reflected over the events of the last few hours.

  She’d never felt this physically and emotionally exhausted, not even when she’d been holed up in steerage during her journey across the Atlantic. Her entire body ached, her head felt light, and her mouth had gone dry as dust, the consequences of her unchecked tears.

  Once the servant retreated, her grandfather motioned her over to the table, where he held out a chair for her. They’d agreed to dine in private, away from the other guests. Caroline had assumed it was for her benefit, but now she wondered. Perhaps her grandfather didn’t want to face the rest of his family. Perhaps he wished to avoid the arduous task of uncovering who was behind her mother’s returned letters.

  As much as she’d like to know as well, Caroline wasn’t up to the task, either, at least not tonight. She’d had enough confrontation for one evening.

  “I—that is—” She stopped short. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you.”

  “Your cousin calls me Grandfather.”

  “Grandfather.” Caroline repeated the name in her head, rolling it silently around in her mind. “Grandfather.” The name tasted strange on her tongue. And yet, somehow, it felt right. “I like it.”

  “Then Grandfather it is.”

  Caroline smiled. The simple gesture felt right as well.

  In silent agreement, they spent the next few minutes focusing on their individual plates. Given the original nature of her presence here tonight, Caroline should have felt uncomfortable in her grandfather’s company. She didn’t. Much like her smile, everything about this moment, this meal, this private time with the man she’d spent years hating felt . . . right. Even the silence was pleasant.

  “Caroline.”

  “Yes . . . Grandfather?” They both smiled.

  “There’s something I don’t understand.” He set his fork down on the table, his smile fading. “Where did you acquire the necessary funds to journey to America and then set yourself up at the Waldorf-Astoria?”

  Her stomach knotted at the question, and she slowly placed her own fork on the table. “I didn’t resort to stealing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then how did you earn the money?”

  “Do you truly want to know?” She eyed him, unsure how much to reveal. “Even if it’s a tale you might not wish to hear?”

  “I get a sense you are a resourceful woman.” The admiration in his voice was real, but he didn’t yet know what she’d done. Would his respect turn to condemnation?

  Determined to brave this out to the end and to remain as truthful as possible along the way, she forced a smile on her face, then . . .

  Stalled a moment longer. “One has to be somewhat wily in order to survive in Whitechapel.”

  “Whitechapel?” His face crumpled. “Caroline.” He reached out to cover her hand with his. “You must realize how sorry I am that you—”

  “No.” She pulled her hand free and placed it in the air to prevent him from speaking further. “We agreed. No more apologizing, from either of us.”

  “Right.” He shut his eyes a moment, sighed, then continued. “You were about to tell me how you raised enough money to carry out your plan.” This time, he held up his hand to forestall her words. “And before you apologize again, I understand your motives for coming here. Given the information you had, I don’t blame you for wanting revenge on me.”

  His voice was deep and forgiving. Instead of comforting her, it had the opposite effect. Her shame returned. “It wasn’t revenge that I wanted, not precisely. I just wanted you to . . . to . . .” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit the truth.

  “Suffer,” he finished for her. “You wanted me to suffer as your mother had all those years in England.”

  “Yes. Oh, Grandfather, I am—” She cut herself off. “Not going to say I’m sorry.”

  “Good. Now. Proceed with your story.”

  “It took me six months to earn what I needed.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  She quoted the outrageous sum.

  “That’s the equivalent of what one of my factory workers earns over five years.” His gaze turned thoughtful, astute, reminding her that this man was nobody’s fool, not even his long-lost granddaughter’s. “What sort of . . . activity pays that kind of return in only six months?”

  “I didn’t steal the money,” she reiterated. “Not in the truest sense of the word.”

  “You’re stalling, Caroline.” He gave her a disappointed shake of his head. “I expect better from you.”

  She expected better from herself. “I won the money playing cards.”

  “You are a card sharp?” He sounded oddly intrigued.

  “Not by trade, no. Gambling was merely a means to an end, the fastest way to raise the money I needed.” She swallowed. When presented in such a candid manner, she sounded quite calculating. “I was—I was . . . on a schedule.”

  “Are you saying you cheated?”

  She gasped. “No. Never. I’m just very skilled at reading my opponent.”

  “No one is that skilled at reading her opponent.”

  Sighing, she explained further. “I am also very good with numbers. I can calculate any sum, no matter how large, with very little effort. I also have a good memory. I can deduce from the cards that have been played which ones are still in the deck, thereby mentally calculating the odds of my success or failure per hand.”

  “Truly?”

  She nodded.

  “What is four hundred and thirty-five times fifty-one?”

  She answered without hesitation. “Twenty-two thousand, one hundred eighty-five.”

  “Eight hundred sixty-three times nine hundred twenty-two.”

  “Seven hundred ninety-five thousand, six hundred eighty-six.”

  “Now that is a useful talent.” He rubbed his chin, speculating. “If you are that good, why did you wait until your mother died to earn the money it took to come here and find me?”

  Caroline sighed. “Because Mother asked me not to play cards.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, with my particular skill, the way I play cards is—” She swallowed. “It’s a . . . sin.”

  Until the words left her mouth, Caroline had never considered herself religious, certainly not obedient to an invisible God who allowed so much suffering in the world, in her world. But her mother had never given up on her faith, or her God, not even in the darkest days.

  Caroline had secretly hated Libby for her blind faith. Or so she’d always thought. Now, she realized that she’d admired her mother for her faith. Just as she admired Mary for hers.

  “Libby taught you well.”

  Caroline sighed again. “Mother used to call the way I played nothing more than a sophisticated form of stealing. In the final years of her life, I honored her wishes to earn money honestly.”

  They’d suffered a harder life than necessary because of that, but Caroline had agreed. Until her mother’s death, when she’d experienced unprecedented remorse. And, yes, shame. Why had she bowed to her mother’s wishes when she could have earned enough to get them o
ut of Whitechapel years ago?

  So much to regret.

  “Caroline.” Her grandfather’s voice held a shrewd note. “There are other ways to use your skill with numbers that don’t involve cards. Legal ways that can earn just as much money.”

  Doubting that, she angled her head. “Such as?”

  “What if I told you I could teach you how to calculate the odds for legitimate gain?”

  “I’d say you have an interest of your own.”

  “You’d be right.” He gave her an appreciative wink. “But it may not be for the reasons you think.”

  Intrigued despite herself, she leaned forward. “Explain.”

  He waved her off with a flick of his wrist. “Tomorrow, at my office, three o’clock, not a second later.”

  Oh, he was a sharp one, the wily old goat. He’d given her just enough information to keep her interested, but not enough to give her a reason to turn him down. They both knew she would show up precisely at the commanded time. “I’ll be there. But be warned, I’m on to your game.”

  “That, my dear Caroline, is because we are very much alike.”

  She allowed herself a brief laugh. “So it would seem.”

  Caroline climbed into her grandfather’s motorcar just after midnight. The night was clear, with the curve of the waxing moon brilliant against the black fabric of the sky. The streetlamps drew long shadows from the house across the hood of the car.

  With only half a mind, Caroline glanced at the million stars above her head. She hadn’t seen Montgomery since he’d left her alone with her grandfather. Just as well. She was weary and worn to the bone, feeling as though she’d run a long-distance race. She wasn’t up for another verbal battle with the man.

  A moment after the driver shut the door behind her, it swung back open and a familiar dark form appeared. She knew those broad shoulders well. A sickening knot twisted in her stomach as the car dipped slightly under the man’s added weight, then balanced out once he settled in the seat beside her.

  She couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkened interior, but she knew he had questions. Many of them. All the more reason to release a long, heartfelt sigh. “Look, Montgomery, I’m not in the mood for another battle with you tonight.”