Her Defiant Heart

by Goodman, Jo

  Jenny saw Stephen a moment before Christian did. Inside the ermine muff, her hands folded in white-knuckled prayer. Stephen was upon them before Christian recovered his surprise and could tell Joe to go.

  "Marshall," Stephen said. He raised his hand to tip his hat and realized he had lost it during the chase.

  "Bennington." Christian was merely watchful at first, but when Stephen's interest turned on Jenny, his eyes turned icy.

  Stephen smiled politely. "You are the very last person I expected to see here tonight. No doubt you could say the same of me."

  Jenny made no reply.

  "Don't you think it is time you came home, Caroline? I suspect you think this latest escapade of yours has been a lark, but how long do you imagine it can continue? The madness is certain to rise again."

  "Caroline?" Christian asked. "What does he mean, Jenny?"

  Stephen laughed while Jenny remained mute. "She's been calling herself Jenny, has she? I am not familiar with that name. Sometimes it was Anna or Grace. Once she called herself Marie."

  Tears glittered in Jenny's eyes. Her glare called him a liar.

  "Let's go home, Caroline. We can take care of you there." He reached over the side of the carriage and brushed her shoulder with his fingertips. She recoiled.

  Christian stood. "Do not touch her again, Bennington."

  "Your concern is misplaced." Still, Stephen removed his hand. "Caroline is family." He glanced back at Jenny. "Haven't you told him?"

  And then Christian knew. He knew. He turned to Jenny for confirmation because it was for her to say. "Is he speaking the truth? Are you family?"

  "Tell him, Caroline," Stephen said.

  Jenny felt the pressure of both their stares. Her throat ached with it. "I am Caroline Van Dyke. Stephen is my stepbrother."

  "And?" Stephen prompted.

  "Some would say my fiancé."

  "There you have it, my friend," Stephen said. "Caroline is coming with me."

  "I am not your friend," Christian said. "Jenny is not going anywhere with you." As an afterthought, he added, "Not unless she wants to."

  That he could even think she would want to go with Stephen filled Jenny with dread. "No," she said almost inaudibly. "I want to stay with you."

  Christian sat down and placed an arm about Jenny's slim shoulders. "You heard my wife, Bennington. She is staying with me."

  Stephen was rendered speechless for a moment. The handsome, finely drawn aristocratic features sagged briefly. "Your wife? But that's... that's not possible. She was engaged to me."

  "Proper use of the past tense," Christian said with light sarcasm. "She was engaged to you. She is married to me." He nudged Joe, who was sitting with his back turned, pretending not to hear anything but prepared to leave at a moment's notice. "Good evening, Stephen."

  "Wait!" Stephen gathered his wits just as the carriage rolled forward. "She can't be married to you!" he called after them. "You did not even know who she was! It's not legal! I tell you, it's not legal!" Belatedly he realized he was drawing unwelcome attention with his shouting. He dropped the hand he had unconsciously raised and took several deep breaths. Raking his fingers through his hair, Stephen ducked his head against the curious stares and retraced his steps back to Beach House. It occurred to him that he should probably break off with Sylvie Andrews now that Caroline was undeniably alive. There was no question but that he intended to have her.

  * * *

  The ride back to the St. Mark was very much like the ride home from Amalie's on New Year's Eve. Neither Christian nor Jenny spoke. When they reached the St. Mark, they walked into the hotel at the same time, but no one who saw them thought they were together.

  Scott and Susan were waiting in the lobby. They did not have to be told that something was wrong. Christian's expression was stony; Jenny looked as if she would shatter. "We're coming with you," Scott said firmly, not waiting for an invitation. "Susan has something she wants to tell you."

  Christian shrugged. "Suit yourself. The three of you go on up. I am going to the bar first."

  The sadness in Jenny's eyes deepened. "Christian—"

  "Nothing from you," he said, cutting her off. "Nothing."

  Jenny raised the hem of her skirt and darted up the wide staircase. Her hands were shaking so badly when she reached her door that she couldn't insert the key.

  Susan took it from her. "Let me," she said gently.

  "Perhaps you should go to bed, Jenny," Scott said once they were inside. He took her cloak, then Susan's.

  "No. I want to wait for him." She sat in the rocker. "I am afraid neither of us is going to be good company." She missed the look that passed between Susan and Scott at her understatement. "Perhaps you'll want to visit another time."

  "Jenny," Susan said, "if you weren't so upset, you'd realize we would hardly be making a social call at this hour. It's after ten."

  Jenny glanced at the pendulum clock. "So it is. Is something wrong then? Your little girl—"

  "Is fine. We came about you. Where are your photographs?"

  "In the bedroom." She pointed to the door on the right. "They're still in the hatbox."

  "May I?" asked Susan. "I want to show you something." At Jenny's assent Susan got the hatbox. She sat down beside her husband on the chaise and sorted through the photographs. "Here. This one." She showed it to Scott, who studied it for a moment and finally nodded. Susan passed it to Jenny.

  Jenny gave the picture a cursory glance, then looked at Susan. "I don't understand. What is it that I'm supposed to see?"

  "On the wall behind Mr. Bennington's desk. Don't you know what that is?"

  She looked at the print again. "I suppose it's a painting." She shrugged. She traced part of the photograph with her forefinger. "This looks like part of a frame. Gilt-edged, I think. From the size suggested here, it would be rather large." She gave the picture back to Susan. "Obviously it means something to you, but honestly, I don't know what it is. I have never seen it clearly. The angle's all wrong."

  "I believe that you've never seen this painting in Bennington's office," Susan said. "But you're familiar with the portrait. You must be. You posed for it."

  Jenny's mouth parted slightly but no sound emerged. She took back the photograph and studied it again.

  "You won't be able to tell anything from it," Susan said.

  Christian opened the door to the suite. He was followed by a waiter carrying a tray. It held four cups, a silver creamer and sugar bowl, and a silver coffee urn. Christian took the tray, set it on the table between Susan and Jenny, and then dismissed the waiter. He pulled the overstuffed armchair closer to the table and began to serve. "It is going to be a long night," he said. "I thought a clear head was in order."

  "That was cruel," Susan said, accepting the cup that Christian offered her. "You know what we thought when you said you were going to the bar."

  "I cannot be held accountable for your assumptions," he said, shrugging. "The hotel's dining room is closed. The bar is the only place to get coffee at this time of night. Scott? For you?"

  Scott nodded. "Still, Christian, Susan's right. You deliberately let us believe you were going to get drunk."

  "I still might." He passed a cup to Scott, then Jenny. "But for now, I would like to hear your conversation."

  Susan started to speak, but Jenny cut her off. "Susan was explaining how she came to realize that I am Caroline Van Dyke." She passed Christian the photograph, ignoring the starts of surprise that rattled the Turners' coffee cups. "If you've never been in my stepfather's office, then you wouldn't know from this picture that it is my portrait hanging behind his desk. I didn't know it myself. But apparently Susan's been there, and she remembered. Is that right, Susan?"

  "Yes. There was a problem with our account. I went to see Mr. Bennington personally to straighten it out. I was not with him long, and I didn't study the portrait, but I must have been aware of it in some fashion to remember it now."

  Christian looked at Susan over t
he rim of his coffee cup. "You always said you thought Jenny was familiar. It seems you met her at the bank." He tossed the photograph on the table. "How long have you known?"

  "Since the night I saw the photographs," Susan said. It was an uncomfortable admission.

  "I see. I wish you would have said something."

  "I thought it was Jenny's secret to keep or divulge."

  Jenny set down her cup and saucer on the table. Hard. "Stop it. All of you. You are talking as if I am not in the room. Christian, I'm sorry that you had to learn the truth the way you did—perhaps it would have been more palatable coming from Susan rather than Stephen—but that's the only other way you would have learned it. I wouldn't have told you if I had had a choice—for all the reasons that you're showing me now."

  "Well," he drawled, raising an eyebrow, "I apologize for being somewhat out of sorts because of what I've heard this evening. I can't think why it should bother me to be confronted by a man who is both your stepbrother and your fiancé. I suppose I should be rejoicing that your true identity is finally revealed. After all, I was willing to marry a housemaid. What a stroke of luck that she is worth twenty million."

  "Twenty-five," Jenny said softly.

  "Twenty-five, then." He laughed shortly, humorlessly, and turned his attention to Scott and Susan. "That's an adequate dowry, don't you think?"

  "Christian." Scott said his friend's name injecting a note of caution. He didn't understand half of the exchange between Christian and Jenny, but he knew better than to jump to more conclusions. "Perhaps we had better listen to Jenny's side."

  Christian leaned back in his chair. "By all means. Go on, Jenny—or would you prefer Caroline?"

  His sarcasm stung, but Jenny's composure held. "I understand that you are too hurt to make explanations easy for me, but I hope you can find it within you to give me a fair hearing."

  Ruddy color tinged Christian's cheeks. "I'm listening."

  Jenny spoke primarily to Susan and Scott with occasional glances at Christian. She told them first of the encounter in the Park with Stephen Bennington. "I told Christian that some would say that Stephen was my fiancé because that's what Stephen believes. I thought giving in would put a period to it. I should have known better. The truth is a little more complicated than Stephen would have wanted anyone to understand. We were engaged for a very short period of time, but I cried off before there was a formal announcement. A few directors at the bank knew, but no one else. I do not think Stephen ever informed them that I didn't intend to go through with the marriage.

  "The portrait that you saw, Susan, was one I sat for while we were engaged. That would have been in late July... just after I returned from Europe." Jenny paused, realizing by the confusion of her audience that she was explaining herself badly. "I think I should start at a different point," she said. "Perhaps it would help if you knew about my father."

  "We all knew Charles Van Dyke by reputation," Scott told her. "His financial success was very well known."

  "True," Jenny replied. "But he was also a very private man, a family man. He was not as fond of making the social rounds as my mother. He was more comfortable in his own home, he would say. Numbers were his livelihood; family was his life. He was at sixes and sevens when he was away, he would tell me, so why should he dress to the nines?" She smiled at the memory of her father's blustering. "Papa enjoyed talking like that. He'd puff out his chest, prepare for a fiery oration, and then something quite ridiculous would come out of his mouth and I would have to laugh."

  Christian was sitting straighter now. He had set his cup and saucer on the arm of his chair and allowed his coffee to grow cold.

  Jenny did not notice Christian's attentiveness. She went on, creating the fabric of the tale with the threads of her memories. "Papa often let Mother go to the theater or parties with other men as escorts. Although I didn't know it at the time, William Bennington was one of those men. He was a widower, a man with business dealings with my father, and I suppose Papa thought it was a perfectly acceptable arrangement. If there was a scandal at the time I was not aware of it. My existence was very insular in those days—not so very different than it has been recently.

  "At that time the protection was provided by my father. He was not as indulgent as you might imagine. He might have called me the princess when I was being mule-headed and demanding, but that didn't mean he gave in to me. In our home he was always king. More often, he called me Jenny. Just to keep me common, he'd say. Mother never liked it. It was her opinion that I already had a perfectly good name. Jenny is simply a corruption of my middle name, which is also my mother's maiden name."

  Scott's cup clattered as he set it down. "Jennings," he said softly as realization struck. "Lillian Jennings. My God, I never realized... your grandfather..."

  "Yes. My mother's father. I'm sure his name is all over that hospital, although I never had occasion to see it. Ironic, isn't it, that I should be held prisoner in the hospital my grandfather endowed." Jenny's smile was derisive. "And it does not end there, Dr. Turner. The madwoman who sometimes shared my cell? She is my godmother."

  Chapter 14

  "Alice Vanderstell." Scott's brows climbed toward his hairline. "Alice is your godmother."

  His genuine astonishment brought a real smile to Jenny's lips. "The Vanderstells were close friends of my father. The families are distantly related, and there was a certain pride they shared in their Dutch roots."

  "So she was always aware you were the princess," Christian said, leaning forward. He rested his forearms on his knees. "She recognized you from the first. She would have known about the birthmark if she stood at your baptism. She would have known why your father called you by that name."

  Jenny nodded and explained the origin of the name to Scott and Susan. "But I am getting ahead of myself again." She poured more coffee and sipped it before she went on. "I hope you have reason to appreciate now that my father and I were close. I loved my mother, and yet I did not know her well. Papa, though, was as much friend as he was parent and mentor. I was just fifteen when he was killed in a train accident on his way home from Washington." Jenny's voice dropped to a husky whisper, and she stared at her shifting reflection in the coffee cup. "I did not accept the loss very well. That's the first time I met Dr. Morgan. My mother called him to treat me when I did not recover from my father's death as quickly as she thought I should. He was not overseeing the entire hospital in those days. His responsibility was the lunatic ward."

  "Were you committed?" asked Scott.

  "No. Mother kept me at home, and Dr. Morgan came now and again. He brought this... this thing... and he would strap me to it and it would spin..." Her voice trailed off as the memory overwhelmed her. No one pressed her. Grateful for their silence, she spoke again when she was ready, relating her mother's decision to send her abroad and the arrival of William and Stephen Bennington in her life. "I returned to New York too late. Mother was already dead and William was in control. It was some time before I understood how manipulative my stepfather was and that Stephen was very nearly his equal." Her cheeks flushed as she began to relate her relationship with her stepbrother. "Initially I was flattered by Stephen's attentions. There was never any brother-sister familiarity to contend with. He is an attractive man, and I rather liked to think that he could be interested in me. You will see it for the vanity that it was, but it had not yet occurred to me my fortune was more appealing than I was. Only weeks after I returned, we became engaged."

  She stood up, placed her cup on the mantel, and leaned her shoulder against it. Folding her arms, she hugged herself. "I chanced upon a conversation between William and Stephen and learned more than I ever wanted to know about their plans. It would have been obvious to the meanest intelligence that they wanted to control my money. If I married Stephen, they could retain their hold even after I was twenty-one."

  "Not necessarily," Christian said. "There are laws in this state to protect your wealth. It would not become the property of your
husband."

  Jenny shook her head. "My father loved me, Christian, but he never considered for a moment that I was capable of managing my fortune. His will was very specific in that regard. I could inherit the money at twenty-one, but I had to appoint not one, but three advisors to oversee it. At twenty-five, after four years under their tutelage, my father granted that I could dismiss them."

  "I take it those conditions were if you remained single."

  "Yes. Should I marry before I am twenty-five, the money becomes my husband's. My father was clear on that account. There is no breaking the will; it is perfectly legal."

  "What happened once you broke the engagement?" asked Scott.

  "I think you know. Within days I began to feel ill."

  "Do you suspect you were drugged?"

  "Yes, I think so. I have to believe that, don't you see? The alternative is that I was going mad—just as they said I was. They had two motives for removing me. They wanted to stop the rumors about their management of the bank, and they wanted control of the money again. I had turned twenty-one, but I had not yet named the trustees. If I remained secluded because of my illness, I would not be expected to make the appointments; they would be made for me by the board at the bank."

  "William and Stephen?" asked Susan. "Would they have been named?"

  "William, certainly. I don't know about Stephen. The important thing here is that the executor position was now going to be a shared responsibility among three people. William did not really want that. His ultimate aim in sending me to the hospital was to keep me firmly under this thumb until I agreed to marry Stephen.

  "I doubt if even Dr. Morgan understood that. William had him treat me at home in the beginning—I think my stepfather was aware that my mother called upon Dr. Morgan after Papa died. It was clever to use him again. I had a history with the good doctor. After a few visits I was brought to Jennings by way of the Five Points. The one thing William did not want was for me to die."