Glittering Promises

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “And I want at least half the board members to be Dunnigan men,” I said to Mr. Smith. “Perhaps even a woman.”

  “No,” Andrew said. “Absolutely not.” His face was growing red.

  “I am not seeking your permission,” I returned. I looked to Mr. Smith. “I can decide this, now, right? Having majority holding in the company?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “But I would caution you to take care. There is a reason that Mr. Morgan wishes to place educated businessmen on the board.”

  “And we shall find them,” I said calmly, even as Andrew rose. “Along with people who care for Dunnigan and its citizens as much as I do.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Cora

  The next day, I ignored my queasy stomach, assuming it was the clamor and the constant demands on me from all directions, and joined the group for a tour of Palatine Hill—once the Roman emperor’s home—and below it, the Roman Forum. For days, we’d stayed indoors, and all of us were eager for an outing, to at least pretend we were something more than wrung-out people in mourning. We’d donned new black jackets and skirts in crepe; only our dickies were ivory. Our broad hats were black, and Vivian even had new jet jewelry at her earlobes, matching Lillian’s jet broach.

  Over and over, we stopped to pretend to listen to Will’s earnest explanations of scant remains of buildings gone for centuries, but we were each lost in our own thoughts. We saw ancient arenas, fountains, homes, baths and steam rooms, temples and gates, and gradually began to piece them together for a glimpse of Rome in her heady, grand days of power.

  Halfway through the imperial remains on Palatine Hill, staring at a fountain in the shape of an Amazonian shield, Lillian broke down, weeping for Father, mourning that he wasn’t with us. Viv and I sat with her for a while until she gathered herself, but her tears made each of us weepy as well. Vivian and Lil’s grief was different than my own, I thought, even as I fished a fresh handkerchief from my purse for Lil. My sisters grieved a father they’d known all their lives. I grieved that I’d missed the opportunity to ever truly know him.

  We moved on to the Forum. An hour later, I walked arm in arm with Vivian, marveling at the Roman road beneath our feet, the stones still in their place, wide enough for two chariots to pass by each other, according to Will. In some places, there were even grooves from centuries of wheels passing over them. “They were an impressive people, were they not?” I asked Viv, trying to get her mind on things besides our dead father. “Building so many roads to such distant lands.”

  “Indeed. It’s dizzying to consider how vast the empire really was.”

  “Lucky for you,” Andrew said, coming to her other side, “you needn’t fill your mind with such facts. You can be free to contemplate the things that women should contemplate.”

  “So…history is not useful to women?” I asked.

  “I did not say that,” he said with a slight scowl. “Only that Vivian need not spend time thinking about things she finds perplexing. I’m here to do that for her. Perhaps at some point you will allow your suitor to do the same for you, Cora.”

  He strode off, and I fought the urge to grab his walking stick and club him over the head with it. “Why do you stay with him?” I asked Viv. “Why not break it off now?”

  “It will be easier once we’re home,” Viv said. “He can go his way, I can go mine. Here…” She shrugged her small shoulders. And I could see what she meant. Here in Rome, and then aboard ship, it would be nearly impossible to avoid him. They’d run into each other again and again, making it all the more traumatic. Even back in Butte it would be difficult. But seeing her tolerate him until the end of the tour? It set my stomach to roiling anew.

  William

  Will and Cora were to meet with the reporters that afternoon. As he escorted her into the parlor, he took a second look at her. “Are you all right?”

  “What?” she asked, as if confused by his question at first, then she shook her head. “Oh yes, why?”

  “You look peaked. Is it your sorrow? Or are you feeling faint again?”

  “A little,” she admitted, repositioning her hand on his arm. “But I’ll be fine. I need to get through with this.”

  He continued to lead her forward, as she clearly desired, but he watched her closely when she squeezed his arm as they turned the corner. She managed to greet Grunthall and the two reporters, Lexington and Jefferson, and then sit down primly on the edge of a chair, shoulders back, head high. She looked lovely, even in her drab black crepe jacket and skirt.

  Will braced himself. It had been a long time since he felt so utterly out of control. The story of their love was about to unfold as Cora decided, not him.

  Simon Grunthall leaned forward. “Gentlemen, as I’m certain you anticipated, all questions must be asked of me—”

  The two men began grumbling and speaking at once, but Grunthall held up a hand.

  “—and I shall allow Miss Diehl Kensington to answer those that are appropriate.”

  The reporters exchanged tired looks but then forged on.

  “Miss Cora,” began Lexington, who was from the Washington Post, “tell us in your own words how you came to be a part of the Kensington clan.”

  Mr. Grunthall cast a raised eyebrow at Cora and gave her a nod. He had agreed earlier that the reporters would not rest until this point was verified and put behind them. But how would Cora phrase it?

  “I only learned of my…connection to the Kensingtons at the beginning of summer,” she said. “I was raised by my mother and a fine man named Alan Diehl. But after my school term finished, Mr. Kensington paid us a visit and invited me to join my siblings on their tour of Europe.”

  She blushed furiously under the men’s intense gaze. But it only made her seem fresh and innocent to him, endearing. Inwardly, he prayed that she’d have the same effect on the reporters and they wouldn’t pry any further.

  Jefferson said gently, “So you did not know that Mr. Wallace Kensington was your true father until May of this year?”

  Grunthall nodded. He probably knew it was inevitable, such questions. Cora had to get the truth out there now, or the newspapermen would continue to fabricate stories based on conjecture.

  “I believe what I’ve discovered of late,” she said, staring right at the reporter, “is that my truest Father is in heaven. But no, I didn’t know of my biological tie to Wallace Kensington until May.”

  Jefferson and Lexington shared a look of surprise, but they continued to question her as Cora accepted a cup of tea from a kitchen maid.

  “What sort of school were you enrolled in?”

  “Normal School. I was working on my teaching certificate.”

  “Surely no longer, with your newfound wealth and position.”

  “I’m not certain,” she said, glancing at Will. “Wealth comes and goes, but the thirst for knowledge is a perennial need.”

  The two men laughed at this.

  “What of your bear, William McCabe?” asked Jefferson.

  “What of him?” she returned without pausing to see if Grunthall approved.

  Jefferson looked to Will and then back to her. “Is it true that you are in love?”

  Cora smiled then, and Will thought she looked angelic. “Oh yes,” she said, reaching for his hand. He stepped forward and took it, standing beside her, feeling a mixture of pride and awkwardness.

  “What is your relationship, exactly, with Mr. McCabe?”

  “Let us keep to Miss Cora and her family,” Grunthall tried.

  “What if Miss Cora would like to be a part of Mr. McCabe’s family?” asked Jefferson cheekily. Lexington laughed, but Mr. Grunthall did not, which made Lexington abruptly sober.

  “Is it true,” Jefferson said, “that you turned away from Pierre de Richelieu in favor of a romance with Mr. McCabe? How’d a fellow like that swipe you from a powerful man like Richelieu?”

  “Perhaps we can address Miss Diehl Kensington’s romances at a later date,” Mr. Grunthall said firmly.r />
  “C’mon, Simon,” Lexington complained. “You know that that’s what most of our readers want to know about.”

  “Move along to another line of questions,” Grunthall said.

  “No,” Cora interrupted, squeezing Will’s hand. “I want people to know that I chose Will just as much as he chose me,” she said, looking up at him. “And I’m blessed to be in love with him. I chose him because he’s kind and loyal and strong and passionate.”

  “I’d love a photograph of the two of you right now,” Lexington said. “Would you mind holding that pose?” He reached for his Kodak, but Grunthall waved him down.

  “Photographs later. Of Miss Cora, alone.”

  “You’re killing me, Simon,” Lexington grunted, reluctantly ceasing his search in the leather bag he’d brought.

  “What does it feel like to be the richest woman in America?” Jefferson asked.

  Her blue eyes shifted left and right, then centered on the reporter. “It feels…new.”

  The men laughed and scribbled down her words on their pads. Once again, Cora was charming those around her. She had an uncanny knack for it, perhaps something she’d gained from her mother or her papa. Or perhaps even a bit from Wallace. Although she was far gentler than Wallace had been…

  “How have you adjusted to the idea of having siblings?”

  “I am far more grateful to my father for introducing me to them than I am for introducing me to any world of wealth.” She smiled softly. “And they have been most gracious in accepting me.”

  “She makes it easy, as you can see,” Felix said, leaning over by the door. The three other Kensingtons had come in unnoticed, and Grunthall scowled. He’d wanted to have tight control on this interview, Will knew. Additional people and answers to the reporters’ questions might send them down paths he’d rather they not enter. But there was no stopping the Kensingtons from entering now, not without making a scene.

  “We are as grateful for her as she is for us,” Vivian added, coming near the table and pouring herself a cup of tea. “Not that it was easy at first,” she admitted. “But in time, it was impossible to ignore.”

  Will studied Vivian, amazed by her candor. She truly seemed to love Cora now, and her love had made her somehow softer, approachable. Cora had been good for her. Lillian just beamed at them all, wringing her hands.

  “You paint quite the cozy picture,” said Jefferson, looking about. “But you’ve all been through a great deal.”

  “Sometimes,” Cora said, without waiting on Grunthall’s permission, “strife brings people together.”

  “But isn’t a great deal of that strife due to your presence within their group?” pressed the man. “Perhaps Miss Vivian or Miss Lillian would care to answer that.”

  Grunthall hesitated. “I’ll answer,” Vivian said. “We have all made choices along our journey that have impinged upon our collective peace. Some we regret, and some we do not.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” said Lexington, “but we’re looking for a story, not a Sunday school lesson.”

  “Perhaps there isn’t as much of a story here as you all assume,” Vivian said.

  The reporters looked at each other and then raced to get in some more questions. “What about your choice to befriend a journalist who set you all up for the story of the decade?”

  “Or Miss Cora’s choice to fall for your guide?”

  “Was it a conscious choice to send McCabe packing back in Vienna?”

  “Enough!” Grunthall shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “Enough!” Gradually, the room quieted. “You shall conduct yourselves in a civil manner,” he said with a glare, “or you shall be ushered out of this house. You are guests, gentlemen, and I urge you not to abuse that privilege.”

  Lexington rose slowly. “We are reporters, Simon. Not a part of your press team. If you do not intend to allow the family to give frank and honest interviews, then we shall have no recourse but to seek our information in another fashion.” He put on his hat and reached for his satchel. “Good day.”

  “But I am being frank and honest,” Cora said, her delicate brows knitting together.

  The man turned to her and took off his hat again. He gestured to her with it. “Miss Cora, perhaps you don’t understand.” He put a hand to his chest. “You are not only the richest woman in America, you are the most sought-after story in America, and,” he said, gesturing to the windows, “beyond. If we don’t get a story worth telling, then we shall lose our jobs. And the reporters that come after us…” He cocked his head. “You won’t care for them much. They won’t be the types that sit politely in a room, waiting to write down anything you care to toss their way.”

  Jefferson rose too. “Stanley is right. You can try to control the press, Grunthall. But this story is already far beyond any of us. There isn’t a person able to read in America, or Paris—or Venice, for that matter—who doesn’t know the name of Cora Kensington. Life was just the beginning. It’s ten times as big now.”

  “Cora Diehl Kensington,” she said, so softly that Will almost missed it. She looked stunned. Shocked. Like a china doll with her perfect makeup and pale complexion and stiff stance in her chair. And more than a little faint again.

  “And they all want to know more,” Jefferson said. “So it’s us or them. Are you ready to give us a real exclusive? The exclusive we agreed to wait for?”

  “No able-minded soul tells the press everything,” Grunthall said. “Get out. This interview is over.”

  “No,” Cora said, rising. She wavered, and Will reached out to steady her. “Mr. Grunthall, you are fired. Gentlemen, return tomorrow, and we shall discuss your exclusives.” She lifted a finger. “But you only obtain your exclusive access to us if you persuade your compatriots that it’s no use badgering us, we’re only speaking to you two.”

  “Done,” Jefferson said, eyes wide.

  “Tomorrow at three?” Lexington asked, obviously eager to depart before Grunthall made his way between them again.

  “Three o’clock,” Will put in. They all rose to say farewell, but a glance at Cora told him she truly wasn’t feeling well at all. Was that why she’d made such an abrupt decision on Grunthall? He moved closer to her.

  The reporters nodded, and a maid showed them to the front door. As soon as they turned the corner, Cora fainted. Will narrowly caught her. Lillian gasped, and Vivian put a finger to her lips, gesturing to the empty doorway. Cora may have promised an exclusive, but they didn’t need to make the story any more dramatic than it already was. This was the reason she’d taken charge—fired Simon in front of the others, agreed to more interviews. She’d known she was about to faint, and that would’ve just added more speculation to the stories reporters were printing daily.

  Will set Cora on the settee and lifted her legs up, then stroked her face. “Cora,” he whispered. “Cora.”

  His eyes shifted to meet Viv’s. “Call Eleonora. We need the name of a good doctor here in Rome.”

  CHAPTER 21

  William

  “She didn’t mean it,” Grunthall said, as Will carried her past him. “I’m not fired.”

  “Oh, yes, she did,” he said over his shoulder. “Pack your bags. We’ll handle our own press from now on.”

  Vivian and Lil rushed ahead of him and opened the door to her room. Will set her on the bed, and the others assembled. Felix and then Andrew, Hugh, and Nell.

  “What was she thinking, Will?” Vivian asked, pacing. “Wasn’t it the exclusive content from Arthur Stapleton that got us in this mess in the first place? And what on earth is the matter with her?” She gripped her belly as if the whole business had upset her stomach. “Is she ill?”

  “She’s not ill! Clearly, she’s reached the limits of her feminine capabilities,” Andrew said. “She’s been sorely taxed. Asked to do far more than a woman should.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Felix said, coming to the other side of the bed and sitting down on it. He reached for her hand and
gently tapped her wrist. “Come on, Cora. Come back to us. Wake up.”

  “I don’t know,” Will said, stroking the hair back from her clammy, perspiring forehead. “Perhaps it all has been too much for her.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Andrew said.

  “Please, Andrew, can you just leave us?” Vivian said, turning and splaying her hands in agitation.

  Andrew stiffened and straightened, his brow furrowing. “Certainly,” he bit out, then turned on his heel and strode out the door just as Mr. Morgan rushed in.

  “What has happened?” the old man asked. Nell went to him and told him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said, looking up at all of them again. “What other trial can befall our families?”

  Vivian bolted from the room, clutching her stomach. Will and Hugh shared a look. “Maybe the girls caught a virus,” Will said.

  “If only there was a ship now, bound for home,” Lillian said, wringing her hands, crying again. “How I wish we were home!”

  “Oh, my dear,” Mr. Morgan said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Trouble is trouble, wherever you are.”

  Cora roused then and moaned, opening her eyes.

  “Cora,” Will said, turning toward her again.

  “Wh-what? What’s happened?”

  “You fainted,” Will said, holding her hand between his. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead and gazing around at all of them. “I’ve given you another fright. Forgive me.”

  “Never mind us,” Hugh said. “How do you feel?”

  “All right,” she said, swallowing hard, as if she were lying. “It’s my stomach again. I fear I am ill.”

  “We’ve sent for a doctor,” Will said.

  “That will give those reporters something new to wonder about,” Hugh said, “if they see a doctor coming in. They’ll be off and running with a story about Cora being pregnant.” The girls shushed him.

  “Really, I don’t need a doctor,” Cora said, struggling to sit up.