Journey's End (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

  What if she failed? What if she disappointed her grandfather and he sent her packing?

  You aren’t alone anymore.

  Oh, but she was.

  Eyes cast downward, she made her way to the bottom of the stairs at a slow, even pace and stopped on the last step. Eye to eye with Montgomery, she waited for him to say something. Anything.

  “You look lovely this evening.” His eyes never left her face. “Although, I must admit, I prefer your hair down, the way you wore it yesterday, as opposed to”—he swept his gaze slightly upward—“your current style.”

  She resisted the urge to touch her hair. “I was told this is the latest fashion.” Sally had been adamant, proving her point with a picture from a current American magazine.

  “Perhaps, but it makes you look untouchable.”

  “Then I shall wear my hair this way every day I am in your presence.”

  A silent battle of wills commenced. Montgomery was good, holding her gaze with studied intensity. But Caroline was equally gifted in this particular skill, holding steadfast under his stare. She might have won the standoff but for the telling breath that escaped her lips.

  He smiled at the sound, a flash of even white teeth beneath full, firm lips that had kissed her nearly senseless yesterday. Her heart dropped to her toes at the memory. Jackson Montgomery was a handsome, virile man at any time. But when he smiled like that? He was devastating.

  She very nearly sighed but had the presence of mind to hold to her silence.

  Still smiling, he offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Caroline took his arm and allowed him to lead her through the cavernous home. The sound of their shoes striking the parquet floors echoed off the walls, the rhythmic staccato matching her heartbeat.

  “How are you finding your new home?” he asked, the perfect gentleman in his tone.

  So they were back to innocuous pleasantries. She should be grateful. Actually, she was grateful. “Your grandmother has been very accommodating, the picture of kindness.”

  “And what about your maid?” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow, the gesture indicating he was on to their game. “Is she getting on with the rest of the staff here at Wayfare House?”

  Caroline pulled them to a stop just outside what looked to be a drawing room. Deciding candor was the best plan of attack, she drew in a slow pull of air. “Sally is not my maid, not in the traditional sense.” She angled her head and caught the amusement lurking in his eyes. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to admit the truth.”

  “You think you have me figured out.” She spoke the words in a condescending tone, as if to insinuate he knew nothing about her, nothing at all. Unfortunately, he’d read her mother’s letters and thus knew far too much already.

  “Not in the least, Caroline St. James.” He placed his lips next to her ear. “You are the most confounding, unpredictable woman I have ever met.”

  She had to work hard at remaining cool, calm, the picture of serenity, when she wanted so much to smile in triumph. “So you say. Montgomery, I—”

  “Caroline. Don’t you think at this point in our relationship you should call me Jackson?”

  “All right, Jackson, you shouldn’t be saying such things to me.” She tried to frown at him. She really tried. “And, while we’re on the subject of inappropriate behavior. You must never, never ever, kiss me again.”

  There. She’d said it. She’d made herself perfectly clear. A gentleman would have no other recourse than to abide by her request.

  A voice drifted from the interior of the drawing room. “Are you two planning to spend all evening bantering with one another in the hallway, or are you going to come in here and entertain a lonely old woman?”

  Montgomery chuckled. “We’ve been found out.” He whispered the words with his mouth still close to her ear. “Remember, nothing gets past my grandmother.” Genuine affection filled his voice. “She is a cagey old bird.”

  With that warning hanging between them, he straightened and steered her into the drawing room.

  Caroline swept her gaze in a quick circle, landing on a woman of indeterminate age with a pinched face, pale skin, and blue eyes several shades darker than her son’s. She sat perched on a chair with her back unnaturally straight. She wore all black, a color that leached her skin of any healthy glow and left her with a greenish pallor. With her face arranged in that off-putting scowl, she looked angry and bitter, a woman who had succumbed to the hardships of life.

  This had to be Jackson’s mother; no other explanation made sense. Caroline had thought her own mother had been a bitter woman, too, but now, with this current example as a measuring stick, Caroline realized Libby St. James had merely been sad. Terribly, irrevocably sad. Yet she’d held on to her faith even in her final days.

  Why hadn’t Caroline realized that sooner?

  Of their own accord, her fingers dug into Jackson’s arm. He covered her hand in a show of support.

  In the next instant, Caroline felt herself leaning into him.

  “Caroline St. James.” He pulled her just a bit tighter to him. “I’d like you to meet my mother, Lucille Montgomery. Mother.” He spoke directly to the woman with the hard eyes. “This is Caroline St. James, Richard’s granddaughter from London.”

  Face still scrunched in a frown, Jackson’s mother acknowledged Caroline with a brief nod.

  “Well, girl, don’t just stand there gawking. Come, sit over here”—Hattie Montgomery patted a free space on the settee beside her—“and tell me how you’re settling in.”

  As she had earlier in the day, the older woman held court from her oversized chair near the fireplace with at least half a dozen miniature Pomeranians cuddled in around her.

  Grateful for the invitation, Caroline released Jackson’s arm and made her way toward his grandmother. She waded carefully through the six miniature balls of auburn-colored fur, aware that their small black eyes were focused solely on her.

  The moment Caroline sat, one of the dogs crawled into her lap while two more pawed at her skirt at her feet. Smiling at their antics, Caroline leaned over, picked up both animals, and then set them in her lap with the other one.

  It was a bit overcrowded on the settee with two grown women and an assortment of dogs, but no one seemed to mind, least of all Caroline. Deciding he’d been ignored long enough, one of the other three leapt up and licked her chin.

  Caroline let out a giggle. A giggle. When had she ever giggled? But, truly, how could she not? These tiny, sweet-natured creatures were so different from the feral curs she’d encountered on the streets of London.

  “They like you,” the older woman said, approval in her voice.

  Caroline stroked the soft fur of the pampered pets on her lap. “It’s a mutual affection.”

  Jackson’s mother sniffed. “They’re horrid little creatures.”

  “Not completely horrid.” Jackson grabbed one of the three in Caroline’s lap. “They’re just miniature fur balls with big black eyes, sharp little teeth, and”—he lifted the dog above his head—“very fat bellies.”

  His grandmother’s booming laugh filled the air while Jackson tucked the dog under his arm as though it were a satchel. The tiny animal didn’t seem to mind but rather settled in. Obviously, the creature felt safe in the man’s arms.

  Caroline knew the feeling. There had been a moment when they’d entered this room when she’d wanted to curl up in his arms and allow him to protect her, too.

  He plans to marry your cousin.

  Why—oh, why, why, why—couldn’t she remember that important piece of information?

  Deliberately moving her shoulders so she would no longer be able to make eye contact with the elegant bundle of temptation, she turned her full attention to his grandmother. “Mrs. Montgomery, I’ve been wondering—”

  “Now, girl, there will be none of that in this house.”

  None of what? “I’m sorry?”

/>   “You will call me Granny like everyone else does.”

  But the woman wasn’t her grandmother. “You want me to call you Granny?”

  “I insist upon it with everyone.”

  “Everyone?” Caroline rather doubted that. Then again, at eighty-seven the woman was entitled to a few eccentricities.

  With a twinkle of mischief lighting in her eyes, the older woman glanced at something—or rather someone—standing behind Caroline. “Everyone.”

  “Well, then, Granny, tell me—” Caroline stopped midsentence, remembering what Sally had said earlier about needing to be careful what she chose to discuss with these people. “Tell me about your husband. What was he like?”

  A faraway, happy look came into Granny’s eyes. “He was very much like my grandson.”

  Caroline turned to look at Jackson, who was conversing quietly with his mother now, his fingers stroking the head of the little dog still under his arm. There was obvious tension around the corners of his mouth.

  I know what you have endured.

  Perhaps he’d been speaking the truth yesterday. Perhaps he had carried his own set of burdens. Something inside her softened at the picture he made. “How is Jackson most like your husband?”

  “The obvious answer is his looks. The boy inherited that full head of thick black hair from his grandfather. The broad shoulders and square jaw, too. Handsome men, the both of them. Sometimes when I look at that boy I find myself lost in pleasant memories from another time.”

  There was a melancholy in Granny’s tone that was hard to miss. “How old was Jackson’s grandfather when he died?”

  “He didn’t make it out of his fifties.”

  Caroline couldn’t imagine what it would be like to love so well only to lose that love to premature death.

  The matriarch sighed, as if caught up in a mixture of memories, some good, others sad. She sighed again, nuzzled the dog in her lap, then scowled at something behind Caroline. “That boy is far too patient, just like my Jasper. He offers grace when he should be doling out a bit of hard truth every now and again.”

  Caroline couldn’t help herself. She glanced over at Jackson once again. He’d set the dog on the ground and was now leaning over his mother, listening intently. To an outsider, he looked enraptured. If Caroline didn’t know him as well as she had come to in the past few days, she might have missed the hint of annoyance deep in his eyes.

  She looked away, shocked at the direction of her thoughts. She didn’t know Jackson Montgomery. They were veritable strangers. A shared kiss did not make them kindred spirits.

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, not bothering to pretend she didn’t know who Granny meant. “He is a very good man.”

  “He’ll make some young lady an exceptional husband one day.”

  Caroline agreed. But since that particular young lady could very well be her cousin, Elizabeth, she kept her opinion to herself.

  “That is”—Granny lowered her voice to a whisper—“once he lets go of his need to be the sole protector and restorer of our family’s good name.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “You are not acquainted with the story of our scandal?”

  Caroline shook her head. When conducting her research, she’d only dug into Jackson’s involvement with her family. Now she wished she’d gone deeper. He’d read her mother’s letters and thus knew the particulars of her past. Wasn’t it only fair she knew something of his?

  “The short version is that his father, my son, ran off with his wife’s sister.”

  Caroline gasped.

  Granny pulled one of the little dogs into her lap. “My son, Edward, was never a malicious man at heart, just extremely selfish. He lived for the next pleasure. He played hard, drank hard, and took whatever he wanted, never thinking of the consequences.”

  Caroline had met men like that at the gaming halls in London. They had been the easiest to take money from and yet the hardest as well, because she always walked away feeling as though she’d taken advantage of them. But more than that, she’d been aware that those men probably had families who were the real victims of their carelessness and excess.

  She understood Jackson’s mother better now.

  “Edward’s charm usually smoothed over any feathers he might have ruffled along the way—until he did the unthinkable and fell in love with the wrong woman. Jackson was barely twenty-three years old at the time and was left to pick up the pieces his father left behind.”

  I understand what it’s like to take on burdens that seem too heavy to bear at times.

  Oh, Jackson. She’d been wrong to scoff at him.

  “I offered to help, to pay whatever debts Edward left behind, but Jackson would hear none of it. He wouldn’t allow me to bear the shame, so he did. He took over the business and set out to restore the Montgomery good name.”

  “By living his life above reproach.”

  “I see you understand him.”

  “Yes.” Oh, how she understood him. Jackson wasn’t boring, as Elizabeth had claimed. He was honorable and wise, a protector and a man of great integrity. He was a . . . a . . . hero.

  “As you can imagine,” Granny said with a sad look in her eyes, “Jackson walks the straight road every day of his life. Ever since his father abandoned his mother, honor and duty have ruled the boy’s every decision. And that’s the worst tragedy of all.”

  Was it? “Why do you say that?”

  “I married Jackson’s grandfather because the Montgomery men were known for their unconventional ways. They were the quintessential rebels. Godly, yes. Moral, without question. But until Jackson, they never allowed society to dictate their behavior.”

  How . . . intriguing.

  “Jackson comes from a long line of men who did what they believed was right, not what society told them was right.” She smiled fondly at her grandson. “The first Montgomery came to America before the Revolution. He was a smuggler during that war, as were his descendants during the Civil War. Turns out transporting contraband and supplies during wartime is not only a patriotic duty to a Montgomery, but a very lucrative business as well.”

  Ah, that certainly answered the question about where the family money came from.

  “Montgomery men have always lived life to the fullest. They play hard and work harder.”

  Jackson joined them just as his grandmother finished having her say. “Not all Montgomery men play hard, Granny.” Frowning furiously, he added, “Some of us do know the meaning of honor and duty.”

  “Yes, Jackson.” The older woman patted his arm. “Some of you understand a great deal more than you should on the subject.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jackson made the decision to exit his grandmother’s house before dinner was served. Not merely because her comments about Montgomery men had left him unsettled—although that was reason enough—but also because he was fed up, stretched to his limit, and wasn’t in the mood for more verbal combat.

  His mother had been in rare form all evening, complaining about the New York winters and lack of quality people left in town to attend the theater with her. He’d suggested she travel to Florida this year, whereupon she began a rant on the heat and insects and various other points of contention.

  Shaking his head, he refocused on his grandmother. She was whispering softly to Caroline again, the topic of discussion the décor of the room. Their ease with one another was evident in their hushed tones and bent heads. He liked seeing the two get on so well, liked it a little too much.

  He was supposed to tutor Caroline in business, not bring her into his family fold.

  Their kiss. He blamed his lack of better judgment on that earth-shattering kiss.

  Once his grandmother came up for air, he made his excuses for the evening.

  The women fell silent, each looking a bit guilty, as if they’d been caught telling tales. What had he missed? What secrets was his grandmother revealing to Carol
ine? “I see I’ve interrupted, again.”

  “Well, yes.” Caroline spoke in that straightforward manner he was beginning to appreciate. “But that doesn’t mean it’s an unwelcome intrusion.”

  His grandmother let out a chortle. “Oh, well played, Caroline. Well played, indeed.”

  Caroline gave her an affectionate look, then smiled up at Jackson. “Please, join us.”

  “I’ve only come to make my excuses,” he said again. “I have another engagement this evening.”

  Caroline lifted an eyebrow, the question in her gaze clear. She thought he planned to spend the evening in the company of her cousin. Which, considering the fact that he was supposed to have already begun courting Elizabeth, was where he should be going.

  He couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm.

  “My plans are with Luke.” He elaborated for his grandmother. “You remember my friend, Lucian Griffin—he was at the St. James dinner the other evening.”

  “Ah, yes, a lovely young man.”

  Jackson stifled a smile at his grandmother’s wording. Lovely young man. Luke would shudder at the fanciful description. “I’ll be sure to give him your regards.”

  “Yes, yes.” She waved him on his way. “Go on, go on. As you can see, I’m in the middle of a very important discussion with your friend.”

  “Indeed.” Caroline shot him a challenging stare. “Just before you made your way across the room, we were discussing the origin of your family’s fortune.”

  He scowled. “That is not an appropriate topic of conversation among polite society.”

  “Good thing we aren’t in polite society.” Caroline released a short laugh before focusing her attention on his grandmother once more. “If I’m not mistaken, Granny, you mentioned something about . . . smuggling?”

  The woman was baiting him, very effectively, too. It took every ounce of his self-control to laugh off her words and address the matter as if every good New York family had such an infamous beginning. “The important part to remember is that my forebears played a patriotic role in two wars.”

  “So I’ve been led to understand.”

  Caroline reached out and placed her hand on Jackson’s sleeve. “It takes courage and strength of character to rebel against an unjust system of rules and regulations.”