Aaron was relieved when he finished shuffling and dealing out the cards. He let out a sigh as he set the deck aside and had a look at his hand. In the previous three hands, the best he’d been dealt had been a pair of jacks. His hands had gone cold. But that wouldn’t continue much longer. He could feel his luck changing even as he picked up this hand. His eyes brightened as he fanned out his cards. King of hearts, two of hearts, king of spades, ten of diamonds, king of clubs. Three of a kind. A strong hand, even before the draw. He took a long swallow of his drink and nodded to the bartender for another. “Open?” Aaron prodded.
“A hundred.” Drayton tossed the bill into the center of the table.
Aaron eyed him narrowly, wishing his face gave some clue to the cards he held. A half-dozen times tonight, Aaron was almost certain he’d won on a bluff. Yet whenever Aaron called that bluff, he’d lost. But his luck was changing now, he reminded himself. ‘’Raise you two,” he announced confidently.
Drayton drew on his cigar and lifted a single brow. His own hand was mediocre, a pair of red threes, the four and seven of hearts and a jack of spades. The look on Aaron’s face had already told Drayton his opponent held a good hand. A very good hand, based on the bet he’d just made. “Call.”
“Cards?”
Drayton removed the three of diamonds and the jack of spades from his hand and tossed them facedown on the table. His luck was running well enough to chance splitting the pair and trying for a straight or a flush. “Two.” Aaron dealt him two cards, then dealt himself a pair as well. He placed the deck on the table, then lifted his hand and slowly fanned out his cards. He quickly reached for his drink and downed a healthy swallow. A pair of nines! He’d dealt himself a full house! His blood was pounding with exhilaration and he was very , very sure he was going to win this hand. “Two thousand dollars,” Aaron announced, opening the bidding.
Drayton cocked his head slightly, and for what seemed like a long time he puffed on his cigar. “Two thousand...and raise you two.”
Aaron’s jaw slackened as Drayton made the bet. New beads of sweat broke across his brow and he motioned for another drink as he finished off his last. He was bluffing, Aaron thought. But whether he was or not, Aaron couldn’t allow him to walk away with this pot, not when he himself held a full house.
“Two thousand,” he returned, counting out the bills, “and I’ll raise you four.” It was all the money he had on the table, everything but two thousand dollars he still had in his wallet. He smiled to himself as Drayton hesitated. It was too much money for a bluff. ‘’Either drop or call,’’ Aaron pressed curtly, anxious to collect his winnings and begin another hand.
“Neither...brother.” Drayton paused deliberately to take a draw on his cigar and lean comfortably back in his chair. “Instead,” he went on slowly, “I’m going to raise you. The house in Gramercy Park.”
Aaron’s face was livid, his nostrils flaring. The house! Drayton was neatly backing him into a corner by bringing the house into this, and adding insult to injury as well. That had been his mother’s house, ought to have been his house. The thought of Drayton living there, among the things his mother had loved, turned his stomach. Drayton had no right to be in that house. Yet it was worth more money than Aaron could hope to come up with, even if he sold every last thing he owned.
‘’The house and contents are worth a hundred thou sand dollars at least. I-I can’t match that kind of money.”
Drayton casually flicked an ash to the floor. “I’m willing to accept your stocks.”
Aaron was breathing heavily now, as if he’d run a mile. He took out his handkerchief to mop the sweat from his brow, then motioned for another drink. “I-I sold my stocks,’’ he admitted.
Drayton’s face showed none of his surprise. “All of them?”
Aaron’s lips tightened, trembled with restraint. “Yes, all of them.’’
“Then I’ll wager the house against what’s left in your wallet.”
Still struggling to control his shaking, Aaron again wiped his brow. A cold sweat was running down the back of his neck as he slowly fanned apart his cards and contemplated them one last time. He let out an unsteady breath and removed his wallet from the pocket of his coat. Two thousand dollars, all that was left of his ‘’security,” his future. Drayton was offering to let him call with that small amount of money against the house in Gramercy Park, worth fifty times as much. Drayton must hold a strong hand, but how strong? That was the question. There was no hint of an answer in the cold mask of arrogance that was his face.
Aaron’s hands shook violently as he added the contents of his wallet to the pot. He had no choice at this point, really. The stakes had already been carried too high to let Drayton win without calling his hand. “Call.”
Drayton took one final draw on his cigar, then casually leaned forward to smash it out in a small tray. “Straight flush,” he mouthed dispassionately as he laid the cards on the table.
Aaron’s face contorted with rage and disbelief. “No!” he whispered. “No!” His voice became shrill and hysterical. “You-you cheated!”
“You dealt the cards, Aaron.”
“You cheated!” he screamed again. He came to his feet abruptly, overturning the table and spilling its contents on the floor. Drayton moved quickly to avoid the table, but Aaron was already diving on top of him, knocking him to the floor. In a swift movement Aaron removed a derringer from his vest pocket and fired a single shot. Instantly a dozen men were rushing to grab hold of Aaron from behind, restraining him even as he continued to scream that Drayton had cheated him.
“Send for the authorities,” Matt ordered as he bent to see the extent of Drayton’s injuries.
The bullet had grazed his temple, causing a cut that bled quite a bit, but no serious injury. He was sitting up. staunching the flow of blood when Matt appeared beside him. “It’s nothing,” he assured Matt.
“Dammit, I knew there would be trouble,” Matt muttered under his breath. He let out an impatient sigh as Drayton turned away from the hand he offered and struggled unsteadily to his feet on his own.
Across the room, Aaron continued to rant and rave, fighting the men who restrained him until authorities arrived.
Matt was relieved when Drayton agreed to press charges against his stepbrother, since Aaron appeared in need of an extended ‘’cooling off’’ period. Matt watched as they all but dragged Aaron from the gaming room, realizing that Drayton was probably right about the vandalism at the warehouse. That vandalism had been a senseless act of destruction, the act of a deranged man. And as Aaron was dragged away, screaming promises of vengeance the entire time, Matt knew Aaron was precisely that. He could only hope that a few weeks of incarceration would make Aaron forget some of what he had threatened to do.
Chapter 49
The first days of August were hot and unbearably humid, and nearly every afternoon saw a heavy downpour that did nothing to alleviate the heat. Though Lily seemed to be growing stronger and recovering her strength during the last weeks of July, the extremely hot weather quickly sapped whatever strength she had and sent her to bed nursing a sore throat and aching head, along with the deep, raspy cough she’d had since the start of summer. “I’m going to send for a doctor,” Ambrosia told Bessie firmly the moment she began to run a fever.
“But there aren’t any doctors here. You’d have to go into the city,” she told her. ‘’And besides, Miss Lily has never been very cooperative with doctors since her illness. With the exception of her nephew, of course.’’
Ambrosia bit her lip hard and held back the cry of helpless frustration that was welling up inside her. Drayton ought to have been home last Sunday, the first Sunday of August. He had promised Lily that weeks ago. But Friday he’d written to say that he wouldn’t be coming home for yet another week, something about a legal matter that needed to be taken care of or some such thing. Ambrosia turned away from
Bessie and paced the floor, wondering what she ought to do. She dreaded taking all this to Drayton, but Lily hadn’t been well for so long! And she was getting worse now, not better. He had to be told.
She squared her shoulders and turned back to face Bessie. “Run and get Debbs. Tell him I have a message I want him to take into town ...today.’’
Ambrosia remained at Lily’s bedside the remainder of the day, sponging her brow and cheeks with cool com presses, spooning broth and cool chamomile tea into her mouth. But the fever only grew worse as the hours passed. Her cheeks flushed unnaturally, her breathing became irregular and shallow as she slept, and her cough began to bring up blood. Oh, Drayton, Lily needs you! Why don’t you come to her?
It was late that evening when he finally did come. Ambrosia was almost frantic when he entered Lily’s room. She half ran to meet him, her eyes filling with tears of panic as she stepped an arm’s length away. “Thank God you’re here,” she whispered.
Lily murmured something in her sleep, then writhed in agony as a fit of coughing tore at her weakened body. Drayton’s eyes flew to his aunt, and he struggled to hide his shock. Slowly he walked toward her, bending low to take hold of her hand. ‘’Lily? It’s Drayton. Can you hear me?’’
“Drayton?”
“Yes, Lily. I’m here.” Still clinging to her hand, he moved to turn up the lamp, the tears burning his throat as he touched her feverish brow. He held her as yet another fit of coughing racked her weary flesh, then lay her gently back against the pillows, having seen enough to know. Pneumonia. He’d seen it before. And lie knew at once Lily was too weak to survive it. “Lily? Are you in much pain?” he asked her softly, gently smoothing back a strand of snow-white hair.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine. I-” She coughed again, a deep painful rasp that made Drayton’s stomach knot. ‘’I-I’m glad you’re home, Drayton. It’s so good to have you-” Again she broke off in a fit of coughing, and Drayton shook his head.
“Don’t try to talk anymore, Lily. Just rest. I’m going to fetch you something to make you sleep. “
He rose and turned down the lamp again, then motioned Ambrosia out of the room. “How long has she been ill?’’ he demanded the moment the door was closed behind them.
Ambrosia’s lip quivered as she faced him. “The cough has been with her for months. But-”
“Months! Then why wasn’t I told? Why did you wait until it was too late for me to do anything?”
The tears Ambrosia had held back spilled over her cheeks. She shook her head, taking a step back, away from the accusation in his eyes. “No! It can’t be too late! It can’t be! She was feeling better,” she insisted brokenly. “She was starting-Oh, no! She can’t die! She can’t!”
Without stopping to think, Drayton took her into his arms, his anger leaving him when he saw her fall apart. He held her tightly, longing to ease the fear he’d seen in her eyes, seeking a comfort for his own hurt and guilt. For a long time, they clung to one another, her tears spilling against his shirt, his against her hair, sharing their grief in a desperate embrace as if each was afraid to let go.
“What-what are we to do?” she choked out finally.
“The only thing that’s left for us to do,” he told her softly, his own voice catching with emotion. “We’ll do our best to ease her pain.”
Lily died the following morning, breathing her last as the birds began their noisy welcome to the sun. In silence Drayton moved to draw a light blanket over her face, a face that was chalk white and marred by lines of pain and exhaustion. He swallowed hard against the nausea that twisted his stomach at the sight of her now. He’d seen death so many, many times before. But this was so sudden, so unexpected. And this corpse seemed such a pathetic shell when he thought of the woman who had embodied beauty and life and goodness. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and wrestled with his emotions. Every harsh word he had ever spoken to her now echoed in his mind, driving a knife of cold regret into his heart.
He drew a long, calming breath and ran his sleeve slowly across his dampened cheeks. She was gone. Regret would not bring her back. Nothing would ever bring her back. He turned away from the bed, and his eyes settled on Ambrosia. She stood at the window, the first golden rays of the sun falling across her tear-streaked face. She was still and silent and her eyes were distant and glazed. He went to stand behind her, his arms slipping about her waist, his eyes closing as the scent of roses from the garden wafted in on the morning air. The world was alive with the riches of summer. Birds were singing, the brook was rushing just a few hundred feet from the house. The world, he realized, would go on just as it had before, as if Lily’s passing mattered not at all in the scheme of things. And yet to him, and to Ambrosia, nothing would ever be the same again.
“The minister’s here,” Bessie called hesitantly from the threshold, her eyes red from weeping. “Shall I tell him-?”
Drayton turned to face her. “No, Bessie. I’m coming.” He waited until she had left the room, then turned back to Ambrosia, his fingers touching her cheek until she met his eyes. For a long time their eyes held, touched with sorrow, then uncertainty, as if each questioned the validity of the closeness they felt at this moment, as if each doubted the bond that had formed in the past hours at Lily’s bedside. “There are arrangements to be made,” Drayton said at length. Without another word he turned away and went to meet the minister.
Ambrosia proceeded woodenly through the remainder of the day, eating nothing, speaking barely a word to anyone. She sat rigidly erect in a parlor chair as the minister quietly discussed the necessary arrangements with Drayton, who appeared calm and collected, as if he were detached from all that was happening. When the minister took his leave, Drayton wrote several brief notes to Lily’s closest friends in the city and sent Debbs into town to deliver them, so that those who wished might attend the simple burial rites scheduled for the following morning. Neither Drayton nor Ambrosia made any move to touch one another again, nor did their eyes meet and hold as they had that morning. The tenuous bond had slipped away, leaving them worlds apart, separated by past hurts and fears. And though the night before Lily’s burial was a sleepless one for both, neither had courage enough to reach beyond those hurts and fears and seek the comfort tasted so briefly the night before.
The following morning, Lily was laid to rest beside her husband in a hilltop plot overlooking the Hudson and the garden she had loved so dearly. The graves, marked by two white marble crosses, were enclosed by a small wrought-iron fence and a row of well-tended shrubs. In accordance with Lily’s written instructions, Reverend Walsh opened his Bible to the eighth chapter of Luke, reading aloud the word she had asked be read over her grave. “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven: for she loved much...”
Ambrosia stood erect and outwardly composed during the brief services that were conducted beneath a sweltering August sun. Drayton stood at her side holding a sleeping Mandy in his arms, his blue eyes distant, showing no emotion. Several of the other mourners were weeping openly, including Carolyn Craig, who had arrived an hour before the service to offer condolences to Drayton in his time of sorrow.
For Ambrosia, Carolyn’s presence tore yet another wound in her already aching heart. Dear God, what would she do now? Lily was gone, and she was all alone now, except for Mandy. Nothing would ever, ever be the same again. She would never walk in the garden or enter the parlor or even eat a meal without remembering, without feeling the loss.
The mourners began to depart just after noon. Ambrosia and Drayton stood side by side in the hall, politely accepting the condolences and offers of help or comfort from Lily’s friends while Mandy toddled up and down the hallway, curiously eyeing the visitors, smiling at them, yet shyly keeping her distance. Only Carolyn made no move to leave. Ambrosia caught sight of her flouncing about the parlor, glancing out the window, running her hand impatiently over the upholstered furniture, waiting for Drayton to
finish with the others and join her there. She had no intention of leaving until she saw him alone, Ambrosia knew.
When the last of the mourners had gone, Ambrosia squared her shoulders and tried to hide the awkwardness she felt at the situation, and the jealousy. She turned to Drayton, but he had stooped down to talk with Mandy and just as quickly had her on his knee. How swiftly she had warmed to him, Ambrosia thought. Just yesterday Mandy had shied away from him, had studied him intently only from a safe distance away, hugging her mother’s skirts. Now she adored him just as he adored her. Ambrosia stood there for a moment, watching the two of them and feeling a painful tightness in her throat. If only Carolyn had not been here today, shattering what comfort Ambrosia might have found in Reverend Walsh’s words, destroying the hope she might have salvaged in having Drayton stand at her side.
As if sensing her intent gaze upon him, Drayton looked up inquiringly. Before Ambrosia could say a word, Carolyn joined them in the hall and positioned herself deliberately between Ambrosia and Drayton as she bent low to speak with him. “Such a lovely little thing,” she mewled sweetly, letting her lacy glove touch Mandy’s cheek. “She’s the picture of you, Drayton. You ought to bring her to town sometime and show her off to everyone.’’
Ambrosia Page 48