by Renee Ryan
Jackson stilled. “How did you know about that? Are people talking?” Already?
“Not that I’m aware, no.” Luke took the shot. “I only know about Richard’s arrangement with his granddaughter because her cousin told me.”
A hot ball of dread stuck in the center of Jackson’s chest. Elizabeth had discussed Caroline with Luke? “Was anyone else around when you two had this particular conversation?”
Eyes on the billiard table, Luke circled to the other side. “I haven’t heard any gossip if that’s what you’re asking.”
Relieved, Jackson let out a slow breath. After all she’d been through as a child, Caroline didn’t deserve to be weighed and measured, condemned even, before she made her own way in society. She ought to have a chance to prove to the good people of New York that she was smart and talented and moral, despite her rough upbringing.
“Are you going to keep staring over my shoulder with that cornered look on your face, or are we going to play billiards?” Luke pointed to the table. “It’s your shot.”
Shaking his head, Jackson moved slowly around the table, choosing the most likely avenue for success. He placed his cue stick between his fingers. “Have you heard any talk about Caroline?”
“A bit, and before you ask, it’s all been relatively positive at this point. Her grandfather wields considerable power in this town. No one would dare openly criticize her in public.”
But in private would they be so kind? Jackson hated that he didn’t know the answer, hated that he couldn’t control what was said behind Caroline’s back.
Luke leaned on his stick. “That’s not what I meant, you know, when I referred to your woman troubles.”
“I know.”
“It’s the way you look at her, Jackson. Dead giveaway to what’s on your mind.”
Jackson’s wrist jerked, sending the cue ball at an odd angle and straight into the pocket on his left.
A look of supreme satisfaction filled Luke’s eyes as he reached in the pocket and retrieved the ball.
“What is it you think you see?”
Luke smirked. “Do I really need to spell it out?”
There was something in Luke’s tone, something that had Jackson setting down his stick. “Why do I get a sense you have a stake in this?”
“We aren’t talking about me.”
“Maybe we should.”
Luke shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Don’t avoid the issue, my friend. You have your eye on Caroline St. James.”
Jackson’s stomach roiled, dread making his breathing slow and awkward. Luke had to be fishing. “You ascertained that from witnessing a few brief encounters between Caroline and me.”
“I’m observant.”
“Not that observant.”
Avoiding eye contact, Luke sank the next three balls. “I should warn you, Jackson, Elizabeth noticed, too.”
For the second time that day, the floor shifted beneath his feet. His feeling of dread morphed in to guilt. “You spoke of this with Elizabeth?” His tone was razor-sharp.
Setting his stick on the table, Luke crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at Jackson. “She was the one who pointed it out to me.”
The revelation staggered him. Everything in him turned hot then ice-cold. Elizabeth. He’d all but betrayed the woman he’d been planning to marry, with her own cousin. He was no better than his father. In fact, he was worse. Unlike Edward Montgomery, Jackson had known from the start the consequences of his actions. Yet he’d ignored caution and had rationalized his behavior. He’d acted selfishly and had hurt a woman he cared about deeply.
For as long as Jackson could remember, Elizabeth had been his future. Had been. As in past tense. He was thinking of Elizabeth in the past tense and had been for some time, as if his intentions had changed toward her long before tonight. His friendship for Elizabeth hadn’t been enough to keep Jackson from reaching for something . . . more.
For several long seconds he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He felt his world shattering around him, splintering into pieces he would never be able to put back together.
Luke continued to hold his stare, a challenge in his eyes. The man knew. He knew Jackson was having second thoughts about marrying Elizabeth. But how could he know, when Jackson had only come to the conclusion in the last few minutes?
Breaking eye contact, Jackson glanced around the room. Noticing they’d drawn unnecessary attention, he motioned Luke to follow him to the library, where they could continue their conversation in private.
Once they were settled near the fireplace, with only a handful of elderly gentlemen smoking cigars and drinking port on the other side of the room, he restated his earlier question. “Elizabeth noticed my interest in Caroline?”
“Actually”—Luke dug the toe of his boot in a crack in the stone hearth—“she thinks you two are very much alike in nature.” He held up a palm to ward off Jackson’s objection. “Her words, not mine.”
“Elizabeth thinks Caroline and I are . . . alike?” The assessment took Jackson by surprise. They were nothing alike.
Or were they?
Another wave of unease clogged his throat.
The fact that Elizabeth had made her own assessment of his relationship with her cousin was disturbing enough. But to discover she’d discussed the situation with Luke? Jackson found that far more troubling.
Elizabeth had shared her intimate thoughts with a man other than Jackson. And you were kissing her cousin. What does that say about you?
Jackson swallowed back a growl. “When did you and Elizabeth discuss this matter?”
“At the opera last night.”
Last night. Elizabeth had been at the opera with Luke.
Had they gone together? No, Luke’s parents owned the box directly across from Marcus’s.
Without Jackson’s encouragement, Luke went on to explain. “I was bored out of my mind,” he said. “Like I always am at the opera. I noticed Elizabeth staring up at the ceiling. I couldn’t figure out what had captured her attention.” Luke shrugged. “I decided to find out.”
“By joining her in her father’s box.”
Luke gave him a grin. “Naturally.”
There was something of the old Luke in that smile, in that droll tone.
“Go on,” Jackson urged when his friend remained silent.
“Turns out, Elizabeth was counting the seams in the plaster on the ceiling. Did you know she hates Figaro as much as I do?”
Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elizabeth told me she loves that particular opera.”
That had Luke falling into silence. Jackson did so as well. Elizabeth had told two different stories to two different men. Had she lied to Jackson, or to Luke? Either way, Jackson realized he didn’t know Elizabeth St. James as well as he’d thought.
Tonight, it would seem, was a night for revelations.
“Jackson.” Luke sat in the chair across from him and set his elbows on his knees. “I have to ask you a question, and I request that you tell me the truth.”
“All right.”
“Are you going to ask Elizabeth to marry you?”
“I . . .” Was he? “No.” It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I am not.”
Luke’s shoulders tightened and his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “She deserves to know. You should tell her immediately.”
Yes, he should. Jackson splayed the fingers of his right hand and shoved them through his hair. “I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Luke leaned forward. “See that you do.”
The invitations began arriving faster than Caroline could keep up. Sorting through them was a daunting task, one Granny had no tolerance for and Sally claimed was beyond her talents. Thus, the following morning, when Elizabeth and her mother appeared on Granny’s doorstep with a request to join them for tea, Caroline welcomed the distraction.
“Granny and I were just about to ring
for a pot before you arrived,” she confirmed, thinking that now was as good a time as any to question her aunt about her relationship with Libby. “I’m sure she won’t mind two more.”
Of course, it would be the height of impoliteness to assume such a thing without checking first. She excused herself.
Her aunt’s voice stopped her.
“No, dear, I didn’t mean here. We shall go to the Waldorf,” she declared. “That is where all the best people take tea. I have already made the arrangements.”
Caroline hesitated, turning slowly around to face her aunt once again. Despite her aunt’s imperious tone, if she was honest with herself, the suggestion was not an unwelcome one. Perhaps a public setting would be a better place to try to trick her aunt into revealing something important. Not that she believed Katherine St. James was guilty. So far, the older woman had treated Caroline with nothing but kindness.
Then again, that could all be part of her game.
“What a lovely idea,” Caroline said. “Let me see if Granny wishes to join us.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she’d spoken as if the older woman was her first priority, as if Granny were her real grandmother.
Caroline should be so blessed.
Unfortunately, her suggestion was met with a hint of disapproval from her aunt. “The invitation only includes you, Caroline.” Her voice was firm but not completely unkind. “Seeing as this is our first chance to get to know one another, I would prefer today’s outing only include immediate family.”
Family. Her aunt said the word with such warmth and acceptance, as if Caroline was truly one of them, as if she truly belonged. Under the circumstances, she found herself warming to the older woman and quite unable to argue the point.
Elizabeth had no such qualms. “But, Mother. What does it matter where we take tea? I had hoped we would do so here, with Granny and her little dogs.”
“Those horrid creatures?” Katherine visibly shuddered. “They are a nuisance. If they are not nipping at one’s toes, they are shedding upon one’s dress.” Her lips pursed in displeasure. “I think we can all agree on that point.”
Caroline didn’t mind the dogs—they were really rather adorable—but if her aunt considered them a nuisance, then perhaps she should make her excuses with Granny.
Caroline teetered on indecision.
It was Granny herself who solved the problem. “Is that my dear Elizabeth’s voice?” She entered the foyer with her chin lifted and one of her little dogs tucked under her arm. “Oh, Katherine, you are here, too. Do come in and join me in the parlor. Caroline was just about to ring up some tea.”
Katherine shook her head. “We were just heading out.”
A moment of tension fell over the two women. Was there to be an argument, then? Over something as innocuous as where they were going to drink their tea?
Who knew something so frivolous could turn into a battlefield. Caroline would never understand society. Never. She wasn’t altogether sure that was a bad thing, quite the opposite, actually.
Of the two, Granny was the most strong-willed. “Nonsense, Katherine, I won’t hear of you and Elizabeth leaving now that you are here. Now, follow me.”
The older woman spoke with such authority Katherine St. James had little recourse other than to relent. So polite, her manners so impeccable, she even gave in to Granny’s request with a gracious bob of her head.
Almost as soon as the four of them were settled in their chosen seats in the parlor, the tea tray arrived.
“Be so kind as to serve, Caroline.”
“With pleasure, Granny.” Caroline performed the ritual of pouring the fragrant brew into four matching teacups. A plume of steam wafted over her hand as she passed them around their tiny group. A cheerful rattle of spoons followed as each woman added varying amounts of sugar and cream and, in Caroline’s case, lemon.
“Well, my dear,” Katherine began, setting her spoon on the edge of her saucer and looking Caroline in the eye. “How are you settling in?”
There was no subterfuge in the question, just general curiosity. “Quite well, thank you.”
Smiling, Caroline passed a plate of shortbread around. A marmalade-hued dog jumped on the table and began nosing around the tea service.
At Katherine’s disapproving scowl, Caroline quickly picked up the furry troublemaker and set him back on the ground. In the ensuing silence, she worked the next round of conversation through her mind. This was her chance to find out who had commandeered her mother’s letters. Surely her aunt knew something.
In fact, Katherine St. James might have been the one to commit the tragic sin herself, although that seemed unlikely. Her aunt had been kindness itself to Caroline. And yet, there was something not quite right in the way she treated her. It was as if Katherine were intentionally trying to appease Caroline. But to what end?
If only Caroline had prepared herself better for this opportunity. “Aunt Katherine, would you tell me about my mother? You were friends with her, yes?”
“Your mother and I were great friends.” Katherine set her cup and saucer on the table beside her and smiled. “The very best.”
Despite the smile, the grief was there, in her eyes, in the catch in her voice. Caroline couldn’t fault the woman’s sincerity. And yet . . .
“You miss her,” Caroline said.
“I do.” She sighed. “Oh, but I do.”
Elizabeth frowned. “But, Mother, you never speak of her.”
After a long hesitation, Katherine waved a dismissive hand at her daughter. “That is because it is too difficult to speak of her.”
And yet, her aunt seemed to have no problem speaking of Libby now. The contradiction between the woman’s words and her behavior kept Caroline alert. “How did you know my mother?”
“We went to school together.” Her eyebrow twitched before she turned her back on Caroline and focused on her daughter. “Libby is the one who introduced me to your father.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Elizabeth’s sigh turned all heads in her direction. “How romantic.”
Romantic? Caroline was thinking how odd it was that at nineteen Elizabeth was only now hearing this important piece of information about her parents. Once again sensing something not quite right, Caroline leaned forward and studied Katherine’s face closely, looking for any signs of subterfuge. She found nothing but a hint of embarrassment in the flutter of Katherine’s eyelashes, in her slightly pink cheeks and stiff posture.
Caroline tried to recall her conversation with Elizabeth during their walk along Sixth Avenue. Due to her father’s gambling, Katherine hadn’t always been treated well by society. She’d been openly humiliated by her peers for wearing a dress more than once.
Libby St. James would have been kind to Katherine despite how others treated her, perhaps even because of how others treated her. Sadly, Libby’s soft heart had led to her downfall. No woman filled with that much tenderness could have survived the mean streets of Whitechapel.
“It was indeed romantic.” Katherine released an airy laugh, giving nothing away of her pain as a young girl. Caroline couldn’t help but be impressed. She knew what it meant to be on the outside looking in and felt a moment of kinship with her aunt. “Your father was very sought after. Many young women wanted an introduction.”
“But you were the one who managed to gain his notice.” Elizabeth clapped her hands together in excitement, her dreamy gaze full of wonder. “Tell me how he asked you to marry him.”
“You have heard the tale a thousand times.”
“I adore the story. Tell it again. Please, Mother, for my cousin’s ears, as well as mine.”
“Oh, very well.” Although Katherine’s voice was full of impatience, Caroline sensed that her aunt was happy to tell the tale of how she became Mrs. Marcus St. James. Caroline wasn’t nearly so eager. She would rather hear more about her mother. She desperately wanted to question her aunt about the years prior to and then after Libby left for London. She would ha
ve to find a way to do so before the visit was complete.
Biding her time, she listened to her aunt’s story with the hope of gleaning more information about Libby. Perhaps Katherine would reveal something important, some small bit of information that would lead to another, and still another, continuing until Caroline found the missing piece she was looking for, the nugget that would tell her who in her family had wanted Libby St. James out of their lives for good.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Several days after having tea with her aunt and cousin, Caroline woke to the sound of rain scratching against the windows. She’d learned nothing overly helpful during their time together, other than the fact that Marcus St. James was a consummate husband and father. Her aunt had been adamant on those points, a little too adamant, which left Caroline quite suspicious of the man.
It was a good thing she would be meeting him again in a few hours, since today was to be her first day of work at her grandfather’s office. Unable to sleep any longer, she rolled out from beneath the covers and padded barefoot to the fireplace.
She tossed on a few more logs, grabbed the poker, and proceeded to stoke the fire back to life. Hot orange flames exploded upward, the wood cracking and popping. It never occurred to her to wake Sally to help her with the task. She’d spent too many years taking care of the basic household chores on her own that she would never burden another person to do what she could easily do for herself.
Besides, Sally was more advisor now than maid. Caroline had been fortunate to find her at the Waldorf-Astoria, more fortunate still to talk Sally into joining her at Granny’s. Sally was a plethora of information about the inner workings of New York society. Yet, no matter how many times Caroline pressed the girl about her background, Sally never revealed where she came from or how she’d gleaned her working knowledge of this world.
Once the fire burned on its own, Caroline pulled a soft-backed chair closer and considered the stack of books on the nearby table. Last night, she’d padded down the hallway to the library after dinner and, with Granny’s permission, had chosen a few to bring back to her room.